


troublemakers

by FictitiousFanatisch



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Addiction, Bottom Harry, Breathplay, Consensual Infidelity, Consent Play, Daddy Kink, Dark, Drug Use, Fighting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Past Underage, Prostitution, Road Trips, Robbers AU, Sad Ending, Substance Abuse, identity theft, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 19:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8339152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictitiousFanatisch/pseuds/FictitiousFanatisch
Summary: But I'd go anywhere with you, right?
  (an odd, self indulgent fic following the unhealthy relationship between a hooking heroin addict and a brilliant cyber security student both seeking sustenance in other people's pocketbooks)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Runaways/Modern Criminal ! AU. To be honest, I've wanted to write a story like this for a long time. I have this horrible infatuation with nomadic lifestyle and the difficulties of survival without the steady luxuries many of us take for granted. If this butters your eggroll, I suggest checking out my other fic, 'Rent Boy' (which is finally coming to a close and will be _majorly_ edited as soon as it's complete). I also suggest reading Jeffrey Artenstein's ['Runaways: In Their Own Words: Kids Talking about Living on the Streets'](http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4096044-runaways). It really helped to form my conceptualization of homeless life and inspired many of the themes in this story. Once again, I am not British nor will I ever be. I tried to capture the culture and dialect of the characters, however please accept my apology in advance for any mishaps. Also _please_ let me know what you think of this counterculture concept in the comments. I appreciate all feedback :)
> 
> That's all. I hope you enjoy!

 

 

 _the road was so dimly lighted_  
_there were no highway signs to guide_

 _but they made up their minds_  
_if all roads were blind,_

_they wouldn't give up 'till they died_

_the road gets dimmer and dimmer_  
_sometimes you can hardly see_

 _but it's fight, man to man,_  
_and do all you can,_

_for they know they can never be free_

    — Bonnie Parker

_'The Story of Bonnie and Clyde'_

 

_-_

 

The city air is dry and remorseless on these winter nights. The artificial glow his mobile screen illuminates his jaded features as he paces on the street corner, a free hand fiddling with the zipper of his grey jumper. He's tall and gangly, still all endless limbs, knocked knees and pigeon toes. There's hardly anything worth mentioning about the way he nibbles the cracked skin of his bottom lip, nor the way he visibly shivers whenever a strong gust of wind whips in his direction. But for whatever reason he remains a sight to behold, especially for Louis's sore eyes. The head of thick tangled curls is what makes him most desirable, Louis thinks. His hair is so wild and overgrown while his face exudes some prevaricated virginity. He's this ethereal amalgamation of a cherub and a dryad with lips that whisper of a thousand eve's, eyes estranged and soul devoid of innocence.

Louis watches the boy through the glass window of the pub across the street. He slides a chip into his mouth, the leather seat squeaking as he shifts in the booth. Harry doesn't do anything for a while. He checks his watch, cups his palms against his mouth, eyes darting left to right every now and then. Louis wonders what the boy is thinking.

It isn't long after that a bearded man slinks up to his boy in trackies and a windbreaker. The man is enigmatic to Louis - he can't even find it in himself to formulate an explanation for his appearance tonight but Louis has decided the man looks like a Jeffrey although his profile screams something more feeble, fragile like maybe his mother named him Nolan. He doesn't look confident, is almost hesitant to engage once Harry identifies him from the other people meandering about the block. But that's alright, Louis supposes. This life is not for everyone.

Cars speed past the windows of the restaurant, disrupting his view but he's watching avidly as the two make their exchange. Louis hasn't got a clue what either of them are saying, though he does know what it's somewhere along the lines of. Harry will bite his lip and lean up, will whisper hotly against the shell of Jeffrey's ear exactly what he's going to do to him because it's not so much about the transaction as it is about the sex.

Harry moves closer toward the stranger and smiles, flirtatiously plays with the gold chain around his pale throat. His skin glitters beneath the moonlight, eyes twinkling with daunting demure. He is utterly captivating like an archaic folklore, unveiling every one of his intricate layers with an unmatchable percussion. Louis knows how good Harry is at what he does but it's a rarity he really gets to sit back, observe, and appreciate the art of seduction.

Harry is a youthful coquette, manipulative and easily excitable, delicate, yet hubristic like vibrant tulips budding in the vernal dawn. He makes every person he comes in contact with feel significant; he listens intently and touches lightly and relates genuinely as if all thoughts and feelings and motivations are valid. Grendel could have his empathy, for the boy learned first to get along with the monsters beneath his bed. Harry plays his games to win. It's all effortless trickery—Louis knows, but Harry is just so fucking brilliant and he can't believe how lucky he is sometimes.

Harry talks gently to this man, operating with a safe length of distance between them for a few moments before he gradually encroaches on the stranger's personal space. The man allows it, doesn't seem to mind when Harry takes a hand out of his jacket pocket and runs his fingertips across the man's forehead, smoothening the wrinkles of uncertainty. Jeff likes the attention.

Louis takes a sip of his drink, wipes his mouth with his napkin and when he looks back across the street, Harry and the man are nowhere in sight. He blinks at his reflection in he window, sighs until his warm breath fogs the glass.

He doesn't register the time that passes after that. He's staring at his phone screen, idly checking the weather for the next three days when a brisk evening draft hits the back of his neck. In the subconscious mind Louis feels it, however his senses don't configure until Harry is sliding into the seat in front of him, shucking his jacket down his shoulders.

"How was it?" Louis half-hazardedly inquires, doesn't bother looking up because he knows the expression Harry is wearing. It's the same look he's had the past two years they've been doing this together.

"Disgusting. 'Smelled like he just came from the gym," Harry picks up the menu and gives it a once over, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"Punters always smell like shite. No respectable bloke pays to get his cock sucked," Louis mutters cynically. Harry chuckles brightly, wagging a finger at Louis.

"Not true. Everybody wants their cock sucked now and then, Lou," Harry smacks his gum. He's got an impish delight coloring his features, a dainty curl about his lower lip and Louis still doesn't know what to make of it— the way Harry always goes a bit off the rails after meeting with a customer. His childish ambitions are sharpened, emotions more acute. Louis often wonders how someone so beautiful could be so twisted in the same respect.

The waitress shimmies over to the table, replaces Louis's glass for a refill and takes Harry's order. It's just past midnight, Harry tells him with a quick glance at his watch. They have a long night ahead and Louis wants to make sure Harry's had enough to eat before they leave.

"Oi, did you manage to get it this time?" He remembers suddenly, smoothing his hands together. Harry glances around the nearly vacant pub, his pupils broad and frenzied as if this were a covert operation before he nods, arching his brow. He laughs as he fumbles through his jacket pocket, pulling out a worn leather wallet and tossing it onto the table.

"Good boy," Louis breathes, reaching across the table and retrieving the prized item. As much as it fascinates Harry, the semantics of what they do, Louis knows he doesn't understand what comes next. They have to stay under the radar. If Jeff reports this to the police, they're most likely going to review places in close proximity of the crime, and if two suspicious characters waving a wallet around a pub doesn't qualify as suspicious, Louis doesn't know what will.

Louis quickly closes it and stuffs it into his back pocket just as the waitress brings Harry his meal. Harry must be hungry; Louis can't remember the last time they had a proper sit down meal. The boy frivolously plucks his spearmint gum from his tongue and sticks it onto the brim of Louis's glass. The older man tuts in disgust, but Harry winks at him and suddenly, somehow it's okay.

Without another word Harry's digging into his food, shoveling chips into his mouth, sucking salt from his fingers, lapping ketchup out of the corner of his mouth. Harry's always been cloudy eyed and ignorant like a child. He doesn't know when to stop, when to second guess himself because he's being judged by the eyes of a population. For all Louis knows, he likes the attention. For Harry, it's probably more comfortable to be watched than to be ignored.

But Harry is graceful in his gracelessness, has an elegant and calculated way of offense, like noxious fumes. He understands his innate need to be the center of attention more than he grasps the social implications of appearing uncultured. He doesn't give a fuck about society, or moral constructs and Louis couldn't have picked a more suitable partner. Sometimes Louis likes to sit back and admire the way he breathes, the bob of his throat when he swallows, the way he curls a loose strand of his hair back behind his ear just because his very axiom of existence is so unabashedly alluring.

And it doesn't help that Louis keeps him up all hours of the night like he's been doing. These late nights always give Harry a rush, always remind him of the days before they met, where hustling was his only source of income. For some reason Harry likes feeling bad, likes knowing others are looking at him and shaking their heads in disgust because they think they have people like him all figured out.

Louis feels a bit sad about it, in retrospect. He knows the tangled abyss of thoughts that run through Harry's mind each day. Louis is familiar with the empty void in Harry's eyes, knows behind that dimpled smile lies a broken soul, a bleeding heart (he thinks it's amusing to watch a corpse try to walk among men).

He sighs, rolling his fingers around the tiny capsule in his pocket.

"I've got something for you," Louis decides, succumbing to the pressure of his guilt. He slips his hand out of his jumper to reveal a little capsule of fine, ebony powder. He places it on the table and slides it toward to younger. Harry peers up from his burger, their eyes meeting. Louis fights back a smile, can already feel the pride bubbling up in the back of his throat. And it's sick, that manipulating Harry makes his anger subside.

Harry puts his sandwich down and wipes the grease on his back t-shirt, extending a set of courteous fingertips to pick it up. He holds it between his thumb and his index, staring at the tiny granules in disbelief.

"Aw, for me?" Harry's eyes sparkle, sounding all too smug. Louis purses his lips; perhaps it wasn't the best idea to reveal it to him so soon. Louis had been looking for a good dealer for the past few weeks, someone who wouldn't sell them a bag of sugar and caffeine with the pretense of it being the 'real deal'.

"All for you, Baby," he smirks.

Harry stares at the bottle for a long time. It must be the way it's packaged that's getting him off so much - the way it's in a capsule instead of a bag like he's used to. Harry wouldn't mind either way as long as the product inside is truly going to provide him with the sensation he needs - but it just looks so different, almost professional and something in Louis's gut tells him the high is going to be well worth the money.

Louis isn't so sure when he became one of those characters you read about in the books. He told himself things would get better once they moved back up to Manchester, said he'd be able to drain enough money from bank accounts to keep them steady, then they would be able to rent a place using Maryanne's social insurance information and could send all the payments to Alexander Schmitt from Birmingham in West Midlands. But he's wasting all of the expertly conned earnings on sustenance to feed his partner's growing addiction.

When Louis thinks about it like that, a shiver surges up his spine because it makes him _look_ and _sound_ so fucking credulous, like he's just asking for all of it to blow up in his face. He knows not to let opportunities slip through his grasp. He knows it isn't safe to keep juggling different identities, hitchhiking, running from the law. He knows not to get comfortable sleeping in motel rooms and eating fast food with Harry because it's more than likely the boy will abandon him for the blow at some point. More importantly, Louis knows better than to get caught up in the black of Harry's bullet blown pupils. He himself doesn't really understand how those eyes became so addicting.

"Finish eating, we've got to leave soon," Louis reminds him. Harry snaps out of his trance, reluctantly resting his prize back down on the table. He eats quickly, eyes following Louis as he recollects the capsule and drops it into the safety of his coat pocket. Harry gives him a soft, yearning look as he does it, but Louis choses to ignore it, similarly to the way he choses to ignore the other serious implications of what they're doing.

Louis pays the bill with Jeffrey's debit card before the two of them head out into the night. His exhalation rises into the clouded skies as he rolls his shoulders and glances across the empty intersection.

Louis keeps track of all the credit, bank accounts and IDs he's obtained over the years. Most are of no use to him after twenty four hours when they realize what has happened - which is why he and Harry have to move quickly this evening. Jeff's bound to figure out he's missing something really important real soon.

"We need more condoms," Harry mumbles against his shoulder, breaking out into an infectious grin when he hears himself. He looks like an angel, his pale skin tinted pink as he clings to Louis's bicep. The wind blows his curls askew, makes him look quite younger than twenty-two.

Louis agrees, pushes his fingers in the spaces between Harry's as he moves in the direction of the nearest shop.

They purchase a lot of things. Harry already has a three thousand pound watch on his wrist, but that doesn't stop them from charging every card until it's maxed. Money is no object - simply an imaginary concept. They never have to suffer the consequences of stealing, never worry about struggling to keep up with any of the bills as they roll in. Louis lives for this feeling of false assurance and unfulfilled promises. He's been caught in this web since he was fourteen and he has no intentions of stopping now.

-

Their home right now is a crummy motel room on the good side of town. It's inexpensive, has a bathroom, a mini fridge and a telly. They move about the country often due to safety reasons since their means of survival aren't particularly sanctioned by law. So it may not be the mansion Louis dreamed of as a boy, but it serves it's purpose well enough. Harry used to sleep under a railway, so he certainly isn't complaining.

Louis helps him carry the bags into their room, then drops them on the floor in a pile among their scattered articles of clothing. They haven't done laundry in about a week and they're running out of clean shirts.

He leaps onto the bed and pulls his laptop out of its bag. He waits for it to warm up, watching Harry rifle through the numerous pieces of clothing on the carpet for something that smells clean.

Louis opens Jeff's wallet, learns his name is actually Henry, but it doesn't really matter what his name is. He takes everything out of the wallet, splays each card out on the bed. Harry easily snatches the tenner from the pile, biting his lip as their gazes lock. Louis smiles up at him, then refocuses his attention to his computer screen. He finds the bank website easily and gets to work on the passwords. Within the next ten minutes he's logged in as Henry B. Macintyre. Luckily, he's got several accounts open. His checking account consists of a meager five thousand pounds and Louis supposes that if they want to make use of that money they better do it quickly. Louis checks the status of the credit cards and isn't surprised to see that they're still active.

Harry stumbles out of the bathroom just as Louis closes his laptop and stands from the bed, collecting the three cards from the mattress. "Ready?"

"Yeah," he answers.   
  


They head to the supermarket several blocks away and buy a couple of laptops and nine hundred pounds worth of gift cards. Louis buys a few boxes of bleach and hair dye because he's been paranoid about cameras even more as of late, and doesn't want his appearance to match any images the police may have of him. And Harry gets his flavored condoms because he insists it'll make giving blowies more interesting.

It's nearly dawn by the time they get back home. Louis figures the cards will be frozen by at least noon today and is already making mental plans for them to relocate some time next week. The police won't be able to trace them once they stop using the cards. By the time Jeff (Henry) is ready to go to the cops and admit that a pretty whore nicked his wallet while deep throating his prick (which isn't likely to happen soon) they'll already be halfway to Scotland.

"We gotta wash some clothes tomorrow... then pack it all up," Louis yawns after a minute, propping his weight back against the headboard. Harry faces the wall across the room, the pale plane of his back flexing as he yanks his shirt up and over his torso. Harry unzips his trousers, slowly pushing them down his this soft, smooth thighs. Louis's breath catches in the back of his throat, and he hates that he has to physically twist his neck before he'll look away.

Harry remains only in a thin pair of black boxers, and once he's brushed his teeth in the ensuite bathroom, he returns to the bed, crawling onto the mattress on his hands and knees. Louis can't help but stare at him, the way his muscles and bone ripple with each calculated movement.

"Yeah... then we go somewhere new," Harry hums, far too enthusiastically for someone of this lifestyle. Louis worries about him often, worries that Harry doesn't quite understand that what they're doing is something that could put the both of them away for the rest of their lives. Harry's always acting as if that's the goal here - like there isn't anything he'd rather be doing than running from city to city with Louis; selling his body and sacrificing his mind for just a taste of the fleeting intoxication.

"Up North... I'm thinking. We could head up to Leeds again. Only for a few days. Or if you're up for it we could try going even further, maybe to Carlisle," Louis drowsily suggests, pushing a few tangled curls out of Harry's face. Harry hums in affirmation, lowering himself onto his elbows.

"I'm always up to go further," He smirks, a suggestive twinkle in his eye. Louis huffs.

"It's gonna be cold as bollocks," Harry notes then, his eyes hooded as he reaches out to caress Louis's jaw, rubbing his knuckles against the scruff.

Harry wets his soft lips, thoroughly searching each feature of Louis's expression. The boy leans forward slowly, tilts Louis's head up and sucks a delicate kiss onto his lower lip. Harry pulls back, his mouth twitching with words unspoken as he curls his index finger down Louis's cheek.

"But I'd go anywhere with you, right?" he whispers, shifting a bit to lay comfortably on his side. He's facing Louis now, his cheek pressed against the pillow with lank ringlets of his lovely dark hair falling into his eyes, tangling in his lashes. Louis swears he can see every barren shred of Harry's soul like this, when he's calm and tender and the libidinous antics of the early evening have faded into the fog of tomorrow.

Harry strokes his back of his hand down Louis's bicep, continuing down to fold his fingers over the protrusions of Louis's pelvis. Harry's hands are warm and soft, ironically never calloused. His touch is feather light, yet so easily distracting.

"It's a two hour drive from here," Louis says, taking a mental note to fill up the tank in the car. They haven't really needed to drive much this week. Most places in this part of the city are within walking distance.

"Good thing I can't drive then," he says, the movement of his lips dusting across Louis's cheek. Louis smirks, though it's truly humorless. Being kicked out at sixteen isn't something to make sport of.

"You ought to let me teach you," Louis mumbles, his eyelids drifting shut. He can just barely feel the brush of Harry's lips against his skin.

"Maybe I will," Harry counters, his voice on the precipice of something besides their lighthearted banter. 

Harry's thumb smooths over his chin, pushes up to graze his bottom lip. Louis parts his eyelids just a fraction to see what Harry's up to, to piece together what sort of thoughts are catching like a wild fire in his brain. Because it looks as if the words are boiling over at the back of his throat, threatening to spill.

"Hm?" he wonders, stretching out the hand that was curled against his chest, offering to cradle his skin. But Harry just shakes his head - as much as he can in this position. He glances down to Louis's lips, and without further sentiment, closes the distance between them, touching their lips in a soft kiss.

Louis melts into it, cupping his hand against the back of Harry's head, threading his fingers through his silken hair. Harry's mouth is warm and wet and he licks out against Louis's molars, moaning gently. They'll kiss like this for ages, sometimes. Harry knocks his nose against his when he readjusts the angle and the younger lad releases a breathless giggle, a long moment hanging between them before he pecks Louis's lips once more and pulls away. His mouth is the very abstraction of sin, lips bathed in a deep, glistening rouge and Louis feels heat flourish around his throat, a familiar ache settling in his stomach but he already knows, _it's_ _late,_ _not_ _tonight_. Because Harry will push and _push_ and _push_ him and sometimes, Louis is just weak enough to push back.

"Okay?"

Harry makes a noise of confirmation, lashes fluttering when Louis presses his fingertips in the nape of Harry's neck.

"Sleep time, H,"

Harry inhales through his nose, his muscles moulding into the mattress. He slips a knee between Louis's legs, hides his face against Louis's neck. The heat of a body is something they both have learned to cherish. Louis knows how cold the streets can be. He can't imagine returning to such a life now that he's tasted the poison of companionship.

"Thanks, Lou," Harry breathes against his skin, lips ghosting along his jugular.

"For ...?"

"For taking care of us," Harry murmurs. And really, it's a silly thing to say. Louis would be doing this whether Harry was with him or not. In many ways, he is just letting Harry tag along, and taking advantage of the talents the boy has to offer. That's the way it feels sometimes. He doesn't really _need_ Harry— like, when Harry finally decides to leave him, he'll be able to manage just fine. Harry only has one thing on his mind and Louis is constantly reminding himself not to get attached.

But Louis never says it aloud, because the last thing he needs is for the boy to get passionate, to try to deny it, and assure Louis that he's here to stay because his actions speak louder every time.


	2. Chapter 2

There's a convenience store a ways up the road, and as soon as Louis wakes up he goes there. It's midday, and he knows Harry will be hungry when he rouses from his deep slumber.

He tugs a jumper over his head but doesn't even bother unknotting his dirty laces before he grabs the key and leaves Harry drooling against the motel pillow.

He hums to himself as he walks into the store, squeezing past a group of construction workers on his way in. The city is always busy but especially during the days. The streets are cacophonous with people chattering on street corners and bustling about the shops and cafes. Louis doesn't like people much. They make him feel smothered. He loves the night. It's a lot easier to move around in the darkness, to whisper than to shout, to hide than seek the spotlight. It's more furtive than committing crimes in broad daylight.

Still, wherever Louis goes out he can't help feeling watched. He knows there are cameras everywhere and an uneasiness settles in his stomach whenever he glances up and sees one.

His worst fear - if he ever admitted to having one - would be getting caught. His father taught him everything he knows about secrecy and Louis thinks he's done a pretty good job staying discreet, but he's almost certain that one day all of it will catch up to him. The thought of being arrested is terrifying for Louis and he can't help but scratch his nails down his arms every time he sees a police officer.

Louis buys a pack of cigarettes and a crate of beer, ignores the confused look of the clerk as he pays with cash and swipes his purchases from the counter. He stops by the bakery next door, the aroma of sweet cinnamon and chocolate clouding his senses. Louis is always hungry these days. He can't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal and believe it or not fast food can only satiate the body for so long. But Harry's been longer and so he tries not to be picky.

Louis buys a couple of warm pastries, started salivating as he watched the woman wrap his purchases and slip them into the paper bag. Louis pays and thanks the woman, folds his receipt as he pushes open the front door to the chill of the winter atmosphere.

Harry's in the shower when he gets back. Louis closes the door behind him and drops the key beside the lamp on the night table.

He feels a little detested by the massive mess he's stepping over to get to their bag so he drops the food and drinks onto the table by the window, then gets to work tidying up their quarters.

Louis makes a pile by the door of dirty clothes and another pile on the bed with presumably clean ones. He doesn't bother separating his clothes from Harry's because they've been together so long that it really doesn't matter anymore. Even if he were to straighten them out now they'd only get tangled once more during the standard week. And Louis doesn't do more work than necessary.

He manages to make the place look better and smell a little less rank with a can of aerosol body spray. He takes his phone off the charger and settles down at one of the chairs by the window.

Louis tears open the bag and digs out his breakfast. He sinks his teeth into the soft shell, the sweet tang of the raspberry jam filling his tastebuds with something indescribable. He hums as he takes another bite, while taking out his mobile and logging on to the motel's free wifi service. Through his phone he finds that sure enough, Henry cancelled his credit cards and closed all of his bank accounts. Louis sighs, unsurprised.

Harry emerges from the bathroom with a hot cloud of steam following him, naked except for the towel tied low on his hips. The tiny water droplets race down his pectorals, following the ridges of his abdomen. He's pale and soft and sleepy, and easy to manage - Louis's fancy. He sits at the opposite end of the table and rests his chin on his hands, silently observing Louis for a couple of minutes.

"Got breakfast," Louis says then, thrusting the paper bag toward Harry. Lines form in Harry's brow as he takes out the pastry, peeling off the paper. He scrutinizes it for a couple of seconds, turning it over in his hands.

"It's good. Eat it," Louis interrupts him. It's only then that Harry wordlessly obeys.

"We've got to hit the road on Monday," Louis explains, placing his phone faced down on the table. Harry nods, pushing his hair back.

Louis doesn't need to explain what's happened to Harry anymore. They've been at this for long enough for him to understand what it means when they have to leave. Sometimes Harry likes the places they go, sometimes he likes the atmosphere, the friendly faces. Sometimes it's hard for him to leave with Louis and that alone should be enough prove his dedication. Frankly, it's not because Louis is set in his ways - convinced that Harry is just as unattainable as the wind.

"Oh? He's already caught on?" Harry asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. He takes another fat bite out of his tart.

"Looks like it. I doubt they'll do an investigation anytime before next week," It's Friday, but from past experience Louis knows it's a rarity for their victims to go to the police within the first forty-eight hours. This gives them plenty of time to do housekeeping.

"But I need you to do the laundry today. The detergent is under the sink in the bathroom," Louis tells him as he stands from the table. He can feel Harry's eyes on him as he hoists their bag up onto the bed, unzipping the flaps and rummaging through to find his toiletries.

"Why can't you do the laundry..." Harry mutters as he eats the remainder of his breakfast and dusts the crumbs off his hands.

"Because I have to get petrol," Louis snaps. Louis has no tolerance for Harry's laziness.

Harry doesn't respond. He huffs as he noisily crumples up the paper on the table and tosses it in the corner where the rubbish bin lies on its side.

Louis rolls his eyes at his petulance. Harry's always been a bit of a child.

-

Later Louis is loading boxes of expensive technology into the backseat of their Range Rover when Harry comes out of the linen house by the main office with a basket of clean laundry.

"Finished already?" Louis smirks at him, resting a hand on his hip. Harry pokes his tongue out as he saunters back into their room.

A few minutes pass and Harry reappears with a bag of crisps under his arm. He's bundled up in the red blanket they keep in the boot for emergencies, but it's pretty chilly out now that the sun is setting. The door is already open, so Louis sits in the drivers seat, invites Harry to come join him.

"We have enough to last us a few weeks," Louis boasts.

Harry opens the bag, slips a handful of potato chips into his waiting mouth. Louis smirks at him, rubs his knuckles in soothing circles at the base of his spine.

"Hoping to put on some weight, Love?" Louis snickers, snatching the bag out of Harry's hands. Harry pouts and shoves at Louis's chest but he's quiet for a minute too long, sparking worry.

"Be patient. I'll go get us dinner in a few," he admonishes as he tosses the bag into the passenger seat. Louis grew up looking after his little sisters, so it's no surprise when he acts like a parental figure to him. Maybe it's simply because Harry is younger, but ever since his real parents abandoned him, not many people have signed up to fill the bill.

Harry sticks his tongue out, huffing petulantly before pushing the gravel along with the toe of his scuffed black tennis shoe. He bores himself with that and after a beat of silence where the sounds of the city fill the static between them, the younger lad hoists himself up, using the headrest and steering wheel for purchase for climbing into Louis lap.

"You gonna do my hair for me tomorrow?" Louis hums against the back of his neck. He can't even begin to imagine how to use hair dye and he's glad he has someone like Harry around to assist.

"I guess. You're gonna look like a university frat boy," Harry smiles dolorously, flicking his fingertips across Louis's fringe like a barber evaluating the specimen.

"It's gonna be shite," Louis laughs as he plucks a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket, slipping it between his lips.

Harry tuts, shakes his head. "You won't look that different. It's just gonna take a bit to get used to,"

His eyes glow with the reflection of the flame as Louis cups his palm around the end of the fag. He drops the lighter back into his pocket once he's done, takes a long, steady drag. Louis exhales, smoke rising into the atmosphere.

Harry watches his lips as they curl around the end of the cigarette once more and on impulse he snatches it from where it hangs on Louis's mouth and pushes it into his own. Louis glances over at him, his hand hovering by his lips for a moment as his brain catches up to his eyes.

Harry sucks in a drag, his chest expanding, deflating as he blows the rest into the wind. The youngest passes a sly smile to the oldest, unbothered as Louis claims his cigarette back. Because nothing was ever really his once he met Harry.

"Do you think... " Harry starts, wrapping his arms around Louis's neck, resting his chin atop his head.

"Hm?"

"Maybe tomorrow, I could um... have my present?" Harry suggests, however apprehensive of Louis's disapproval.

"I don't know, Babe ... maybe," Louis exhales as he pulls the cigarette away from his mouth. Harry's lips trail along the roots of his hair, his breath gentle, calming.

"It's been a while though, yeah? Come on Daddy, I've been a good boy," he simpers to ease the tension, to hide how he truly feels. But Louis isn't fooled anymore- he knows how much Harry needs to get high.

"Maybe," Louis mumbles again, slightly irritable because he has no intention of letting Harry anywhere near it. Not until they get out of here, at least.

Because if getting so incoherent to the point of collapse makes Harry happy, Louis will give that to him, just – in moderation. If Harry wants it, he'll decide just how often it happens. That's the only way Louis will be able to sleep at night and live with himself during the day. Oops.

He's torn from his glowering when Harry's big hands caress the side of his face, tilting his head up, using his thumbs to align their mouths. Louis holds the cigarette low between his fingers, his body relaxing as Harry captures his lips in a harsh, obnoxious kiss.

He swallows and he can feel Harry licking in deep and tickling the roof of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, can feel the vibrations surging through his throat as the choked moan escapes him. It's wet and messy and so fucking filthy and Louis isn't expecting so much tongue but he accepts it graciously. He rests one hand behind Harry's head to steady him as he starts to retract, a mixture of curiosity and astonishment twinkling in light of Louis's eye.

Harry's lips are a bit spit glazed and his pupils are deep and ebony devoured. He brushes his lips against Louis's temple, finally resting his head against Louis's shoulder.

"Don't call me Daddy," Louis mutters, once again closing his lips around the end of his fag.   
"'M not that old,"

"You're my Daddy," Harry insists on using the petname, nuzzling his soft skin into the curve of Louis's shoulder. The older man sighs.

They sit for a while longer, reveling in the presence of one another. When Louis reaches the filter of his cigarette he flicks ashes into the wind, stubbing it out with his heel. He pats Harry's back, warning him he's about to get up. The younger boy whines in protest, but he obediently stands from Louis's lap, readjusting the fleece blanket as it slides down his shoulders. Louis gives his waist a gentle squeeze before snatching his keys from the dashboard and heading back inside.

-

Louis orders for the two of them and then takes a seat in the booth closest to the door. He doesn't want to get too comfortable with the heat blasting through the ducts above. Harry's hungry and waiting for him back at the motel.

He knows he has a responsibility - taking care of Harry, looking after him. He knows it's his greatest liability, letting this boy come into his life, letting Harry grow so dependent on him. If Louis ever decided to leave, Harry would probably figure out a way to fend for himself - would no doubt find a man to spoil him rotten and fuck him hard and get him so high he could forget all the people who have abandoned him. He knows Harry is a smart kid and that he knows how to survive. It's what keeps Louis from opening up to Harry. Harry must think he's just as disposable, somewhere deep in that beautiful, twisted mind.

But Louis won't ever allow himself to think that - to seriously consider walking out on his delicate flower. Harry's a treasure in his life and he can't imagine waking up without the younger lad by his side.

The murmurings of the customers and staff fill the atmosphere of the American style diner. Louis smiles at the waiter as he brings his order to the table, the familiar smell of grease and sautéed vegetable assaulting Louis's nostrils. His stomach grumbles impatiently.

He's about to stand when out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of the hostess entertaining a rather suspicious looking police officer. He's frowning, and Louis's reactions are slowed until the woman points her finger in his direction and the officer calls out, "Excuse me, Sir?"

His reflexes are blunted and his mind is in overdrive. He doesn't even process what is happening before he curses - he snatches the paper bag from the table and shoves the waiter out of his path.

He doesn't notice the bodies he collides with as he makes his way toward the exit. He's bolting out the glass doors and running into the street, relying on his own two legs to take him back to the motel. The blinding headlights of unsuspecting drivers render Louis defenseless in navigating. He feels drunk almost - hardly aware of his surroundings. His nightmares are coming to life -

He makes it to their room in record time and shoves the key into the lock, frantically jiggling the knob until giving up and kicking the door until the old, feeble hinges give way.

Harry steps out of the bathroom, holding a plastic bag of toiletries in his hands and looking utterly discombobulated. Louis stumbles in and drops the bag of food on the carpet, immediately occupies himself with stuffing piles of clothes into their duffels.

Harry chuckles. "Where's the fire -"

"We have to go, _now_ ," Louis heeds, his eyes dilated with paranoia. Harry seems to take the hint, doesn't argue or hesitate to start collecting his items from the nightstand, the bed and the bathroom. The last thing he wants to do is hold them up - potentially shatter this fragile fantasy they've created.

Without a thought the next ten minutes are spend loading various bags and conglomerated piles of unorganized clothing into the boot of the car. Louis can hardly breathe, but he doesn't stop. He can't.

He and Harry are laughing hysterically by the time they get onto the M6. Harry's chest is heaving so fast and Louis has dark circles under his eyes but he's happy - he's fucking ecstatic and he can't even begin to figure out why. They're living the shittiest, most unhealthy life and it just doesn't make any God damn sense.

Louis manages to drive with one hand and snatches a fistful of fries from the younger boy with the other. Being irresponsible is one of Louis's guilty pleasures - always has been. He's never indulged the concept of growing old. Louis hardly even considers his age a defining factor.

"Fuck, we could've gotten arrested! Locked up with killers and child molesters," Harry jokes as if his words aren't a very real possibility. It's all white noise to him, Louis muses. He doesn't see it because he doesn't want to.

"As soon as I saw him I just - bolted," Louis coughs into his arm, reliving the recent trauma. He forces himself to find the humor in the situation. He supposes it's a lot easier for Harry because he's been incarcerated a few times for prostitution. Louis has bailed him out more than once.

For Louis, prison is endgame. Once he gets caught for real all the puzzle pieces will fall into place and he'll waste away behind maximum security bars. He'll learn to love four concrete walls - to dream of a world where every opportunity was his to exploit. Those are the memories he'll hold onto. He'll die slowly and silently on a stony cot with the image of Harry's lips burned behind his tired eyelids.

"You think they'll ever catch up to us?" He asks, rolling his bottom lip between his fingers. He's smiling under the pretense of airiness but Louis knows what he needs to hear.

"Nah. We'll just keep running. And when we run out of land we'll get on a plane," Louis promises, reaching across the console to squeeze Harry's hand. Harry's quiet until the next exit when heavy rain starts to shower the windshield.

"One day we're gonna run out of money," Harry thinks out loud, tracing idle shapes into the foggy window. He's letting his mind get the upper hand and Louis can't stand it.

"Oi, shut up, will you?" He hushed the boy, running a hand over his beard. Harry glances toward him, hugging the paper bag closer to his chest with a crunch.

"I'll look after you," Louis says, looking back in the rearview mirror one last time before he maneuvers into the right lane. Harry audibly swallows and Louis can tell the words have affected him.

Louis thinks he'd quite like to do this with Harry forever. Or be Harry's forever - whichever comes first.


	3. Chapter 3

"I told you it'd be shit," Louis gawks as he looks in the mirror. His hair is dripping at the tips, the aureate hue certainly something to get used to.

Harry smiles gently, toweling the back of Louis's neck where the water soaks the collar of his t-shirt.

"I think it's looks good. Give it a few days, Hon," Harry brushes him off, kissing the tender spot behind his ear. Louis runs a hand through his blonde fringe, taking in the drastic alteration. Harry looks at him in the mirror as he folds the towel and places it on the counter beside the sink. He wraps his arms around Louis's waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder.

"Once your normal hair starts growing out it'll look better. Won't look so fake," Harry tiredly explains. Louis ignores him, reaching over to the box to read the directions on the back.

The rest stop bathroom is tiny and vacant at four in the morning. It had been an hour of driving and they're both quite irritable and exhausted from being crammed up in the car but Louis insisted they pull over and do his hair before they step foot in a new city. He doesn't want to meet anyone new and raise suspicion about his true identity. He and Harry make up a new name and backstory for themselves every time they start afresh - it's easier and safer than explaining the storyline that follows them throughout the country.

"Why does it bother you so much..." Harry closes his eyes, smoothing his hands across Louis's stomach. Louis feels immobilized with Harry clinging to him like this, so he just stands still.

"Why does what bother me?"

Harry takes a deep breath and exhales long and low. He looks tired, his skin blanched in the stale artificial light of the bathroom. Louis wonders if the added stress is a result of withdrawal.

"I mean... if they know what you look like your hair isn't going to throw them off that much..." Harry muses, as if his words aren't laced with noxious undertones.

"What's gotten up your arse tonight?" Louis yanks out of his hold, starts gathering up the bottle of leftover bleach and dye and tossing them in the bin.

Harry knows he's overstepped a boundary - how can he not? Louis glares at him as he balls up the paper towels and disposes of them.

"I just... I'm just saying-"

"You're just being a twat, that's what. You say whatever you feel and don't think it means anything," Harry looks him up and down, taking in the paranoid look in his eye and the quiver of his lip. Louis scoffs, shaking his head.

"So what, you want them to arrest me? Want me to spend the rest of my life in jail?" Louis snarls at him, unbothered by the pained look of hurt in his eyes. Harry glares at the floor, too ashamed to make eye contact.

And Louis always does this — always makes him feel guilty for having fruitless thoughts and opinions. What Harry says is often just an extension of his ignorant mind. There's no need to get so angry with him because at the end of the day his words are about as threatening as air.

But Louis hates keeping negative company. If Harry's going to passively remind him every day that he's wanted for laundering thousands of dollars and identity theft, he might as well leave Harry in this dingy rest stop loo.

"Don't— no. You know I don't want that," Harry denies, taking a few hesitant steps forward.

Louis is still upset, but not enough to reject his boy when he's vulnerable. Harry comes close to him, searching his eyes for the true sense of his hurt.

"I've done this to protect us- to take care of us. Why can't you just accept it for what it is?" Louis wonders. Harry doesn't usually make these kind of comments but he's done it twice so far tonight and he's really not willing to adjust for them.

"'M sorry," Harry says, nuzzling into Louis's neck. His eyes are glassy and sincere but Louis averts his gaze, afraid to face the one person he trusts in this fucked up world.

"I'm mad at you," Louis sighs, trying to turn away but Harry stops him with a hand on his bicep.

"Why? I love you," Harry murmurs, glancing up to his damp blonde hair, then down to his mouth.

"You piss me the fuck off," Louis mutters, turning his head away.

Harry purses his lips pensively, scratching the back of his neck to think of a solution for their dilemma. Louis places his cool hand against his forehead, feeling out a migraine.

"Could I make it up to you?" Harry asks shyly - though he's nothing but bold and lewd, they both know. Louis hasn't even taken his words for their true value before Harry is slipping down to his knees on the hard tile.

He places his hands on Louis's hips, glancing up for his approval. Louis inhales, still isn't sure if he wants his cock sucked right now. He's tired and they'll have another long day tomorrow that he's in no way looking forward to.

Harry runs his hands over Louis's thighs through the fabric of his jeans. He presses his thumbs into the pressure points, biting his bottom lip in anticipation. This is probably going to be more of a treat for him rather than an apology. Typical.

Harry hums as he lifts the hem of Louis's shirt. He kisses the softness of his lower tummy as his fingers work at the button and zip of Louis's trousers. He pushes Louis's jeans down around the top of his thighs, kissing and palming him as he descends.

Louis watches as Harry mouths over his dick through his briefs. The damp warmth of his breath is doing it for him, making things a bit more interesting. It really shouldn't be so hot after all this time, but Harry is an aphrodisiac—from his dark lips and his talented tongue to his hooded eyes and his body -

He's the definition of sex, and he wears the title proudly. Louis thinks he's lucky to be in the position to choke such a beautiful man.

"I'm sorry, Lou. Forgive me? It won't happen again," Harry mumbles between kisses, running his hands over Louis's hips to his bum, squeezing the flesh before coming back around to his thighs. All of these ministrations are working, turning him on- quickening his breath his heart rate. Talking like this always gets him hot; playing at the total power exchange that occurs between them.

Harry teases him until he's completely hard, the outline of his cock strong and detailed beneath the thin material of his briefs. Louis lets out a breath he'd been holding when Harry peels them down, dipping his hand in to retrieve his prize.

Louis lets his eyes flutter shut as Harry licks a fat stripe up the vein on the underside, swirling his tongue into the sensitive head before wrapping his lips around it and suckling. The sound Louis expels is animalistic. His hands have been clenched by his sides, but at that intense sensation, he slips a hand into Harry's curls, calmly caressing the back of his head.

It's moments like these Louis remembers why he keeps Harry around. He gives head like it's his God given purpose.

"Fuck, Babe," Louis's breath comes out ragged and his hips lurch forward. Harry peers up at him, those dilated eyes and dark lips the personifying sin as he leans in once again. He slides Louis's girth along the flat of his tongue, angling him toward the back of his throat. He presses closer until his nose brushes the course hairs at the base of Louis's length.

Harry bobs his head deeper, eyes shutting in ecstasy as Louis tightens the fist in his long hair. He loves being treated like a rag doll, getting roughed up a bit. It's the submissive in him.

"Love this, don't you?" Louis laughs, though he can feel the sweat prickling at his temples. Harry just looks at him with his mouth stuffed full, the blush bleeding down his neck when he pulls off. He wraps his fingers around Louis's cock so only the tip pokes out of his fist. He nods sheepishly, leaning forward and flicking the point of his tongue into Louis's head.

Harry dips in again after a moment, so eager and exhausted that Louis's wet tip slides along his cheek and a streak of precome paints his warm skin. He pouts, holds his thumb and index as a ring around Louis's base and steadily guides his mouth back onto Louis's cock.

He forgets how good his boy is at this; every time Harry goes down on him it feels like the very first time. Louis rests his hand on the wall by the paper towel dispenser, groaning as he pulls Harry's head onto his dick. He can feel the pleasure surging through his veins, the endorphins bursting behind his eyelids the longer he holds on. It's almost too good to be true - the feeling that erupts in Louis's chest. He knows even at gunpoint he couldn't describe it.

Harry pulls off, sucks at the head of Louis's cock where he's leaking. He thumbs at the pink tip, almost hypnotized as another glob of precome bubbles out. He misses his mouth again on the way down, moving too fast to calculate his motions. Then he's lapping up the slick from his chin and the back of his hand before he properly sucks Louis down again. It's messy and dirty there on the bathroom floor but Harry doesn't seem bothered in the slightest.

"Oh - fuck that's good," Louis slurs when he feels Harry's wet fingers gently rolling his balls. He thrusts his hips up and Harry gags wetly, but he doesn't pull off. His eyes fill with tears as he sucks the air in through his nose.

Harry coughs when Louis yanks him off, his lips shiny and his pink cheeks tear streaked.  
"Just fuck my mouth," he says, curling his hands against his lower back in subservience. He's so eager to please - eager to be used and abused. It's lovely.

"Yeah – _shit_ , alright," Louis agrees as he tugs Harry closer by his roots, forcing his head onto his dick with a calloused hand. The younger boy splutters and his shoulders tense, but he doesn't protest.

Louis rolls his hips while holding Harry's face against his pelvis. He's sure the boy can hardly breathe, nose smothered in the wiry hairs at the base of his cock, but Louis's receptors are too overwhelmed with pleasure to even acknowledge such things. Harry's throat is wet, warm and tight and it feels so fucking good - he's levitating on this ecstasy, heart thumping wildly behind his ribs. His skin is so hot, he can barely feel the crisp night air, through blurred vision he can hardly see the gloomy shadows on the bathroom tile as cars pass by on the main road. His mouth feels dry as the waves come crashing down on him. He feels frantic for release, like he's drowning beneath something insufferable.

"Take it," he grunts as he undulates his hips in harder and faster and Harry is full on crying now, tears in a constant flow down the apples of his cheeks. Louis roughly pulls him back by his hair, fucking his throat on the floor of the rest stop bathroom like he's a glory hole of some sort. It's so filthy and impersonal, all but outright ungodly. The boy's throat constricts around a moan and Louis thinks he might come right then and there - the thought of Harry choking on his semen is one he'll gladly entertain.

What finally tips him past the precipice is the image of Harry with one hand shoved down the front of his pants, desperately feeling out the shape of his cock, humping his fingers like a depraved teenager, feverish with vile desire.

Louis grips Harry's hair so tightly and heaves him forward, sheathing his cock completely. His blood coils with a sharp, white pleasure that tears up his spine and sends a spasm through his muscles. He moans out into the static atmosphere, unable to think or fully comprehend anything but this feeling as he reaches his peak, shooting down Harry's throat with shallow thrusts.

Louis slumps back against the concrete wall, his bones rattling in the aftershocks. He takes a deep breath, soothing himself with the slide of his fingers through Harry's curls. He slowly claws his way back to the surface, his damp lashes flitting open. He registers sensitivity and draws back out of Harry's orifice.

The boy is whimpering on the bathroom floor, rocking against the hand in his pants. Louis nudges him with the toe of his trainer, urging him to stand. Harry mewls, his eyes shining with need when he glances up at his partner.

"Get up," Louis commands, snapping his fingers. He gets a paper towel from the dispenser and wipes the slobber from his flaccid dick before tossing it into the rubbish and tucking himself back into his underwear. He tugs his tight jeans up his legs and zips up his flies.

"We're leaving," he says, artfully denying Harry an orgasm. The young man frowns when he realizes what's happening.

"But—"

Louis washes his hands and tosses the towel over his shoulder.

"Clean yourself up and meet me in the car," he pushes past him with devilish austerity, slipping out the door.

And Harry's obedient, as always, slinking into the passenger seat a few minutes later. He's still hard. He folds his arms over his chest and stares out the window. Louis reaches across the console, gives the boy a fleeting stroke across the front of his trousers. Harry shudders, rolling in his swollen bottom lip.

Even if Harry doesn't recall, Louis knows none of that was meant for him to enjoy. Pleased with his show of authority, Louis draws his hand back, starts the car and pulls out of the empty lot, maneuvering them back onto the highway.

-

They check into a hotel just outside of Huddersfield and collapse in the two person suite early that morning. Louis wakes up first around noon, laying beside him. He would never admit it, but sometimes he likes to watch Harry as he's resting. He likes the angelic glow of midmorning light that halos his delicate features. He likes the way Harry's soft lips twitch with unspoken words, the way his lashes quiver while he dreams. He likes the idea of Harry - the ethereal concept that always seems so far out of reach.

Louis rests his chin atop his folded arms, the familiar scent of sterile hotel linen and lilac detergent a comfort in this unfamiliar city. Harry turns onto his front, shifting into reposition. He can't tell if Harry's slowly waking or not, but he remains silent just in case.

He watches him some more, eyes moving lustfully over his back. His skin looks so soft, so beautiful. Louis thinks about reaching out, tracing his fingertips along the curve of his spine. He almost feels unworthy. The sheet just barely covers the base of Harry's vertebrae and Louis's eyes are following the trail to his tailbone when Harry inhales and he tears his attention to the younger man's face. Harry's eyes are gently parting, squinting in response to the blinding light that seeps in through the tacky decorative curtains. The shadows create hazy patterns on his skin; in this moment, he's Louis's dreams personified.

"Morning," he hums, his throat raspy from their late night activities. Louis is endeared.

He starts to get up from the bed, craving a cigarette but Harry grabs his wrist, tugging him back.  
"Stay," he murmurs.

Louis sighs, but acquiesces. Harry hums elatedly as Louis curls in closer to him, sharing his body warmth.

"What are we doing today?" He asks, voice muffled in the duvet. Louis draws circles into his back with his knuckles.

"I don't know," he replies, looking around the room over Harry's head. They only managed to lug their main bag up to the fifth floor. The rest of their food and clothing lie in the backseat of the car.

"I know I need a shower, though. So let me up—"

Harry whines when he starts to pull away, burrowing himself against Louis's chest.  
"Just a few more minutes," he pleads, closing his eyes.

Louis huffs, though he knows there isn't any place he'd rather be than laying with his boy, holding him in his arms.

They stay wrapped up for about ten minutes just talking about mundane things. Louis doesn't lose his temper and Harry doesn't talk out of line. They're quiet and soft and lighthearted, basking in the warmth from the glimmering windows. Harry says he likes the way the sun feels on his skin and Louis teases him, tugs on his earring until he swats him.

They shower together in scalding water. Louis stands behind Harry and shampoos his hair, fingers soothing into his scalp. The hot steam surrounds them and makes everything feel slower, languid.

Louis stands still while Harry runs his soapy hands all over his chest and tickles under his arms. A giddy smile graces his lips and cracks Louis's poker face. He can't help it. Harry is pretty and blushing and his skin is pale and soft like clouds.

"We should go somewhere tonight," he suggests as he wraps his arms around Louis's neck. Harry leans in to peck the corner of his mouth.

Louis can hardly see with the spray of water cascading around them. But Harry's so close he can make out the tiny droplets curling in his eyelashes, some of them racing down his neck.

"Maybe,"

"We passed a bar on the way in here, I think. We could check it out ... have some fun," Harry talks, somewhat to himself. Louis listens, though. It's hard not to when the overwhelming tones of Harry are molesting him in this confined space.

"You're not having fun?" Louis hands rest on Harry's hips, but he gradually moves them around to cup Harry's arse.

Harry smiles timidly, those eyes widening when he feels Louis palming at his bum. He shrugs in response, his hips pressing forward.

Louis takes two handfuls of the soft flesh, kneads gently. He knows Harry likes a bit of sexual harassment. He's a tactile person in general, but there's something about having his body touched in such a blatantly crude manner that gets him hot.

"Just thought we could... " the words die in the mist of the shower head when Louis starts mouthing at his jugular. Harry closes his eyes and tips his head back, allowing him more access.

Louis takes that invitation, nipping up his neck and latching onto the corner of his jawline. He sucks a pretty little heart-shaped bruise into his skin, laving the reddened areas with his tongue before pulling back. Harry exhales hotly, his eyelids fluttering open.

Louis runs his hands up and down Harry's waist, feeling the dips and curves of his figure. He's a big boy - tall and lanky with endless limbs but his assets are well endowed. His body is one of Louis's favorite things - he loves to just touch and feel and appreciate this person he spends most of his time with.

Louis pushes their mouths together in a bruising kiss, tangling their tongues while hands wander his chest. Harry breathes out through his nose as he tilts his head, seeking out more of Louis's tongue. He cups Harry pectoral, rubs his thumb over his nipple to make him keen.

Louis pinches them both, rolls them gently between his thumb and index fingers. Harry's breaths are getting shorter the more excited he grows. Louis can feel Harry hard against his hip already, probably pent up from not getting to come the night before.

Louis smiles against his lips as he feels down for Harry's cock, folding his fingers around the boy's length.

"Don't start something you're not going to finish, Prick," Harry forewarns, his phrasing slurred and his eyes cloudy with arousal. He leans in again, seeking out Louis's lips.

They kiss lazily for another minute more before Louis nudges him back, slotting a knee between his bare thighs. The wet glide of their skin only adds to the pressure in Louis's gut, the building anticipation.

"Why don't you turn around," Louis whispers, ignoring his empty threats. Harry looks at him for a moment, almost as if his reactions are bated in lust. After a second he obeys, turning and pressing his front against the tiles. Unsatisfied, with a hand against the nape of his neck Louis roughly shoves him into the wall so that his cheek is plastered to the wet ceramic.

Harry moans breathlessly, his thighs quaking as Louis forcefully parts them. The sound goes right to Louis's cock - sparking the latent pull in his belly. Louis positions himself behind the younger boy, sliding a wet set of knuckles over Harry's shoulders, down the dip of his spine and over the curvature of his bum.

Louis uses his free hand to slip the crown of his cock down the cleft of Harry's arse until it catches on his rim. Harry shivers bodily.

"Want me to fuck you right here, huh?" Louis burns the words into the nape of his neck while trailing his hand down between Harry's legs, taking hold of his firm cock. He squeezes him, while grinding his hips forward against his arse.

"Yeah, Lou— fuck me," Harry begs, blindly reaching behind him to tug Louis closer by his wrist. He looks so beautiful, begging like the sole victim of deprivation. Louis sighs, knowing he'll have to deny him yet again. And it's a damn shame, really. Harry's been such a good boy.

Louis closes his eyes as he tightens his hold around Harry's dick. He slides his cock against Harry's rim, teasing him with the possibility of more. It's enough to have Harry's back arching in need.

"Dirty boy," Louis chuckles at how desperate Harry is, at the way Harry's trembling before they've even done anything. Louis cards his hand through Harry's wet hair, kissing the soft curls at the back of his neck. He traces Harry's spine, leans down to lick a trail up the water droplets. Harry's gasping before he can make it halfway.

Without thinking he slides a couple fingers past Harry's parted lips, whispering in his ear for him to get them nice and wet. The boy nods like his head is the heaviest thing he's ever lifted. Louis feels Harry's tongue gathering saliva from the back of his mouth - can feel him executing the task to the very best of his abilities. Louis kisses up his neck as he works those fingers in and out and after a while Louis decides he's done well enough.

His right arm curves around Harry's front, securing his hip while the other slips down between Harry's arse, a finger prodding at his hole. Harry's lips hang open obscenely as Louis presses them in one by one. He's not prepping to fuck him - if he were he'd be moving a lot slower. He rests his chin on Harry's shoulder, breathing filth into his ear as he stretches two fingers up his channel.

"Oh," Harry sighs, his nails scraping against the tile when Louis crooks his knuckles, stroking the pads of his fingers against Harry's sweet spot. His knees buckle, neck bared in beautiful submission.

Louis nibbles on the chain around his throat, the tang of metal a leaving a heady aftertaste. It only adds to the euphoria of Harry rocking back onto him, hopelessly embracing the feel of their need-stricken bodies.

The lukewarm water chills their radiant flesh - Louis can hardly distinguish the sweat from the water that glides down his spine as he continues to fuck Harry onto his fingers. Harry's hips are moving on their own accord, pushing further and further back with each thrust he so graciously provides.

"Such a slut for it, hm?" Louis licks along the shell of his ear as he slips a third finger up into the younger. Harry quakes with the sensation as Louis rubs relentlessly over his prostate.

"Louis, touch me," Harry sobs, arching his spine. His legs lurch in protest and his lower back is enduring most of the pressure, but Harry doesn't seem to register any of it as discomfort. Louis feels his heart clench at the sight of his good boy, putting himself out to please.

A sudden burst of compassion flows through Louis's chest and he snakes his hand around him to take a hold of Harry's cock. He's hard and so so wet, precome dribbling from his tip every time Louis incites his prostate. His beautiful body writhes in pleasure and Louis groans when Harry starts playing with his own nipples, ruthlessly twisting the tight little buds.

Deciding he's pushed him far enough, Louis starts giving him firm strokes, squeezing his wrist up his shaft and circling down around the head with only the water as lubricant; it can't be a very comfortable drag. He positions his cock in the rive of Harry's thighs as his fingers relentlessly rub that sensitive nub until the boy's lips part in a despondent cry.

He can't help himself anymore - Harry's hips are moving backward and Louis's thighs are pivoting forward the heady sound of their skin colliding is salacious. Louis sinks his teeth into Harry's shoulder as he grinds against him, the boy's body vibrating with the force of it. His pale skin glistens with puddles of water, plump red lips agape as he loses himself in the feeling of his approaching orgasm.

Louis presses hard into his prostate and holds his fingers there, his fist a blur as it flies over Harry's cock. Harry moans gutturally, the deep sound reverberating against the bathroom walls.

"Come for me," Louis nips his ear, twisting his hand around Harry's shaft before scraping his palm against the sensitive slit on the glide back down.

"Oh - oh..." Harry whines, his pretty sounds drowning in the water as it hits the shower floor. With that, Louis knows he's seeing stars.

Louis feels warm strings of Harry's come drip slowly down his knuckles, his hips pitching forward and back as he rides the high. He gradually falls into immobility, muscles twitching with the aftershocks. Louis gently pulls his fingers out of Harry's now pink, irritated hole and cups both hands against Harry's hips.

He's got to be chaffing, but the boy doesn't complain. He's Louis's good boy - always has been. He stays completely pliant with his arse out as Louis grinds into him. It doesn't take long for Louis to peak.

Louis chokes on a wail, his eyes folding shut as he paints Harry's thighs and arse with thick spurts of come. The boy's hole clenches as some lands there, the light sensation making him croon in delight. Eventually Louis's momentum falters and he slows to a stop.

For awhile, Louis catches his breath against Harry's nape, soothing hands over the back of the boy's hairless thighs. When Louis decides to lean up, Harry finally gets to stand. He's got a crick in his spine and Louis apologizes by massaging strong hands into the divots of his back.

Harry, feeble and lethargic, allows Louis to clean his skin before shutting off the faucet and drawing the curtain back. He tosses Harry a fresh towel and they dry off together, Louis smacking Harry's arse on the way out of the bathroom. The boy squeals, scrambling after Louis and nearly slipping on the tile to get him back.

Louis finds it hard to fathom - the fact that he'll be turning thirty five at the end of the year. Forty is close and soon he won't be able to delay his aging. It's only a month away now, creeping closer by the day and it's mostly incredible because he doesn't look or feel any older than twenty-six. It must be because of Harry.

Harry makes him feel refreshed every day when he wakes up and renewed every night when he drifts out of coherence. This childlike spirit follows him around and makes him feel lighter - like all of his adult baggage is virtually nonexistent. Some days Louis feels like he's fresh out of University - like he's got the whole world ahead of him.

It's laughable, really. But everything is these days.


	4. Chapter 4

It's a cozy little establishment, a warm lobby adorned in dark reds and rustic umbers and Harry tugs at Louis's collar, says he wants a beer, so Louis buys him one. They choose a small table in the corner of the restaurant, Harry plopping down on Louis's lap. His glass is half full, but it seems as though he's forgotten it, content to move his lips across Louis's neck, knocking his ankles against Louis's calves. The place isn't overly zealous, hardly crowded but there are enough people to make Louis's head reel. He doesn't particularly like taking Harry into settings like this - hates the idea of losing sight of him. But then Harry asks and as with everything else Louis finds it difficult to decline. As much as he likes to pretend he controls the boy, he knows Harry has learned the bounds of his freedom with him.

"Would you ever marry me?" Harry wonders, curling his fingers against the back of Louis's neck. He clings to him like a motherless child, avidly searching for light in the older man's eyes. Louis doubts he'll ever find it.

"'Course I would," Louis assures him without much thought to the weight of the question, carding his fingers across Harry's shoulder blades. Really, it doesn't catch him off guard; he knows Harry isn't being suggestive about anything in the slightest.

"Bullshit. You wouldn't marry me. Can you imagine the trouble I'd make? You're only saying that because you think it's what I want you to say," Harry dismisses, his lower lip slightly pushing out. Louis decides to play along for the moment though he isn't sure what's to come of it. He shakes his head, slipping a hand into the boy's hair and giving a little tug.

"Besides, if you really felt that way you would have married me already," Harry explains, that childish glow returning to his face. Louis admires him gently, tucking a loose curl back behind his ear.

"Sure, Babe," Louis smiles, his attention then turning to the bar across the room. He scans its expanse lazily. He's keeping an eye out for potential customers, doesn't want to pass up the opportunity to make some fast cash. And it's sort of his own addiction at this point - Louis needs to have money. He needs to have the assurance that they'll still be on their feet by next week. He's constantly looking ahead, no longer living in the moment.

"Also, I've been thinking about what I could do for your birthday," Harry says, his voice gentle amidst the hum of the other patrons. His hand trails down Louis's sternum, capturing his attention.

"M'm, and what's that?"

"'Could get a tattoo of your face on my arse," Harry grins, hiding his teeth with the back of his hand. Louis looks at him for a long moment before he rolls his eyes, hardly amused. Harry almost always resorts to entertaining himself because Louis is _old and heartless._ He giggles into his hand for a few seconds.

"Yeah?" Louis inquires. His eye catches sight of a brawny brunette bloke on the opposite side of the room in his peripheral vision; he's chatting with the bartender.

"Okay but seriously. We should get like, matching tattoos,"

Harry has brought the topic up before and it's usually under the portentous context of _love_ and _commitment_ and ' _we're going to be together forever, right Lou_? ' and Louis is so tired. Unlike him, Harry lives in the moment. He never takes anything for granted because he knows what it's like to lose everything. He wants to believe he's found his forever so that if he doesn't wake up tomorrow he could tell the other junkies in hell he knew what it felt like.

"Tattoos," Louis balks. He doesn't understand where Harry gets these notions. He has a couple himself, some bad decisions he made towards the end of grade school, a lost bet at a drunken uni party, a friend with a tattoo gun stored in his basement; thinking about those years now seems as if they took place in another lifetime. A lot can happen in ten years.

Harry frowns at the older man's tone, but there's a hint of teasing in his next statement. " _Yes_. I think you owe me, you filthy old man,"

Louis glares at him, wishing he could eliminate the boy's lethal cheekiness. Harry thinks he can get away with virtually anything and it's beginning to manifest in rebellious mannerisms.

"If anything I spoil you rotten, you little brat," Louis cracks, digging blunt nails into the back of Harry's neck. Harry's features twist in vexation, and Louis knows how much he hates being treated like a child. It serves him right if he thinks the age jokes will ever be amusing.

But it's true. He splurges a lot of their money on jewelry for Harry; the boy loves his rings and necklaces. The boot of their car is a catastrophic conglomerate of fuzzy stuffed animals, sheer blouses, and glittery sex toys and it says a lot about Harry's personality, that even after all these years he still feels like he needs certain things that orchestrate a feeling of normalcy in their warped nomadic culture. If Harry goes out shopping and sees something he likes Louis has a very hard time putting his foot down. And he can't refute the way Harry's eyes light up and he begs with warm eyes and soft touches and deep, distracting kisses. Harry is a survivor— it's always defined him first and foremost and he'll often utilize the entirety of himself to get whatever he wants. He's never had anyone like Louis before, someone who would cave almost immediately at the promise of making the boy smile. Harry ought to feel guilty for manipulating Louis like this, but things wouldn't be the same between them if Harry didn't try to put a price on his affections.  

"'M not a brat," Harry mumbles adamantly, pushing his face against the crook of Louis's neck. Louis finds his gaze wandering to the bar again, his eyes catching the fellow he spotted a little earlier. James — he looks like a James — is taking quick, hard glances over at the two of them. He's gnawing the inner corner of his cheek, rubbing his hand over his beard, taking tentative sips of his beverage and doing a very poor job of looking discreet.

When Harry starts mouthing at his skin once more Louis huffs in disinterest, shoving him so he collapses against the back of the booth. Harry's neck hits the seat with a thud, his eyelids wavering as his brain processes the discomfiture.

"Ow," Harry grouches as he punches Louis on the inside of his thigh, a frenzied glow in the iris of his eyes. The older man tuts and pinches his nipple through the cotton of his shirt, twisting it until he whimpers. Harry holds his gaze as he bites his lip, a soft blush filling into the apples of his cheeks. Louis gives him a stern look that tells him everything he needs to know, holding his wrists as he turns his concentration back to the character at the bar.

Louis finds himself staring back at the man, an unspoken intrigue hanging ominously in the air between the two of them before he looks away. He's sitting at the bar alone now, occasionally peering down at the glow of his phone screen but longing swims in his eyes. Louis just might be able to help him out.

"It's not fair," Harry clears his throat after a while, once he's calmed down. He hooks his thumb into the collar of Louis's shirt, pulling gently. He can tell Louis's attention is elsewhere.

"What..."

"I want something and you won't even _consider_ it," Harry protests because surely this is in violation of his civil rights.

"Actually come off it, Haz," Louis snaps, unsure of whether or not he intends to hurt the boy's feelings. Harry can be querulous, utterly _impossible_ sometimes and because they're practically the same person, it's often difficult to win an argument with him.

Louis distracts himself with the promise of a new customer, finding it simpler to occupy himself in the business side of their relations than the emotional connection they inevitably share.

Harry mutters something under his breath, his brow wrinkling as he moves his legs out of Louis's lap. "And what the fuck are you looking at?" he questions, searching Louis's wandering eyes.

"Why do you want a matching tattoo with me?" Louis sighs, turning to the boy— that's what Harry is, to him,  anyway. He tries to authenticate his maturity through his sexual experiences but Louis knows deep down he's just an infant without a dummy.

Harry stares back at him, distrustfully. Louis raises his brow.

"Because... I just... I just thought we could," Harry breathes, the heat under his voice fading with every word his mouth forms. Louis smirks, knowing Harry can't stay irritated with him for very long.

"I just _do_ , okay? I've always wanted one with... someone, and I thought maybe we could since we're kind of like, you know..."

" _Lovers_ ," Louis barks, because it's absolutely ridiculous. He may be in love with Harry in some cold, abysmal pit of his subconscious mind, but in the real world nothing could be farther from the truth.

Harry flushes, an embarrassed half smile splitting up the sides of his face as he shoves at Louis, hard.   
"Fucking... shut _up_ ,"

Louis grins, can't help the little garble of laughter that draws him in when he sees how red Harry's face has gone, how glassy his eyes look and all of it is much easier to make sport of than the soft pang of guilt Louis will feel later for the implications of what he's doing. Because control is a lot more gratifying than the pretense of love.

As an apology, after a minute of chortling and the tingling on his lower lip has finally subsided, he leans in to offer an apologetic kiss, sucking gently on Harry's bottom lip. He pulls away, caressing Harry's chin.

"But I mean, you already have a lot of tattoos. What's one more?" The younger bargains, no doubt formulating all of the reasons why getting matching tattoos would be a pro and not a con.

"Please? It can be something to remember me by when they finally lock you up," Harry says with a quirk of his brow. He's smiling, though he knows his words are far from entertaining.

Louis doesn't snap at him - though he kind of wants to. He knows Harry won't be easy to win over later, won't be so quick to accommodate to his wishes if he continues to burn the bridge.

"I'll think about it, yeah?" he decides, rubbing a hand over his facial hair. _Maybe_ , he doesn't add.

A few minutes pass after that spiel. Louis teases Harry lightly, doesn't snap at him or try to control him for awhile. He hopes doling out intervals of liberty will make Harry forget that he's essentially hand cuffed to the older man. No matter where they go or what they do or who they meet they're always an extension of each other. It can complicate their business because many of the men lose interest if they find out they're in some sort of relationship be it sexual or otherwise. They've never really put a label on what they are or how they live, seeking out the sensations of life rather than the construct of ideology. Louis is proud of the world they've built together, but sometimes he feels as though he's invested more into it than Harry.

"Hey, you see that bloke over by the bar?" He says against the shell of Harry's ear, his eyes following James as he returns from the restrooms, making small talk with a group of bears. Football highlights play on the flat screen above the bar and Louis resists the urge to comment on the typicality of it.

"Um..."

"The one with the lip ring. He's got a black shirt on, colored chinos, looks like he's a year one at uni, listens to vinyls and shoves kale up his arse," Harry hums, a small giggle escaping his lips as he searches the small crowd.

"Oh I see him. Glasses, beard?"

Louis nods, shaking his head in bewilderment. "He's been looking over here at you for the past twenty minutes,"

"How do you know he wasn't looking at you?" Harry takes the piss, as he always does because he insists that it's a natural talent. But it's far from cute and Louis wishes he wasn't so infatuated with the boy because then he'd feel no remorse when he flicks Harry's earlobe and sees the boy wince.

"Think he's fit?" Louis hums, dusting his lips against Harry's neck. The skin is soft and supple, the flutter of his pulse warm and solid and escalating beneath blood and tissue. The boy shrugs, his eyes flickering in the stranger's direction.

"Yeah," he answers, simply.

"You're just saying that,"

"No," Harry insists, staring down between them. Louis quirks a brow. "He's attractive,"

"Hm. Why don't you go chat him up, then?" Louis gently tells him, dusting a stray curl out of Harry's face, straightening the lapels of his jacket. Despite Louis's tone, it isn't really a request, and they both know it's not a suggestion. Harry's eyes dim, his lips twisting with words he chooses not to say. Which is probably for the best.

This _thing_ has been going on for awhile. Louis will see a man who has the same sweltering desire for Harry's body, and he'll point him out to the boy. He'll slip Harry a tenner, impress him to go buy the man a drink and introduce himself. Its all very simple, too easy, sometimes. But it's often difficult for Harry. He doesn't necessarily _like_ seducing men, but he isn't good at much else so it's the only way Louis convinces himself Harry is a valuable asset to the survival.

The boy sometimes finds time to snatch a wallet either before or after they've committed the act, and when he returns to their room at night with credit cards and cash, Louis thanks him with a kiss before pulling his laptop open and hacking into patron personal accounts. It works, sort of. So far nothing has blown up in their faces. But some part of Louis anticipates their fantasy to crumble eventually.

Harry cranes his neck to look at the man once more - this time he's met with an icy glare. The man now stands with his back to the bartender, elbow resting coolly on the counter with his hip cocked out. Louis can almost feel the tremor that courses up Harry's spine. Cute boys are his weakness and Louis is constantly scoping out candidates for their little business. He knows Harry well enough to know what he likes. Confident he's won, Louis pats Harry's bum, urging him to get up. But Harry doesn't move.

"What do I get out of it?" Harry challenges, his lips setting into a firm line. Louis raises his eyebrows and leans back, thoroughly affronted.

"Well... you won't go to bed hungry anytime soon, that I can assure you," Louis retorts. He's the one who makes all the adult decisions between the two of them and if Harry thinks he can secure enough money selling his arse alone Louis will gladly leave him to it.

Harry pinches Louis's neck. "I'm serious..." he mutters.

"So am I, Love," Louis quips, keeping an eye on James every couple of minutes. He doesn't want the opportunity to slip through their fingertips while Harry's being petulant.

"Come on, Lou," Harry pleads enticingly, stroking the pads of his first two fingers along Louis's jugular. Louis knows he's just going to put him on a guilt trip until he agrees, and if that doesn't work he'll put a bargain on the table. Louis's learned how to not feel bad about Harry, how not to cave when it comes to his petty ultimatums. Every time he considers the boy as an insouciant child, he pairs it with the image of finding Harry passed out, stone cold and trembling with a needle in his arm.

It's enough to put everything into perspective.

A beat passes, thoughts turning over in Louis's head. Harry grunts insolently, turning his head in the opposite direction.

" _Okay_ ," he groans, making a compromise he really isn't confident about. It's probably going to open a whole new can of worms but he supposes they'll deal with implications when they come. As he does with everything.

Harry still doesn't acknowledge him, so he cups Harry's chin, presses his thumb against his jaw and rotates his head so that their visions lock.

"If you convince him to go to the bathroom with you— no whining and no excuses — we'll get bloody matching tattoos," Louis says and Harry's attitude immediately shifts; he's such a brat sometimes, _most_ times and Louis never really learned how to deal with him.

"Swear?" Harry asks, ducking his head to look in Louis's eyes, scanning them for any mistruth.

"I swear," he confirms. Harry doesn't say another word before he's crawling over Louis and sliding out of the booth, slipping his jacket off of his shoulders and tossing it in Louis's lap.

"Ah-," Louis cuts in, grabbing the watch on his wrist. Harry looks back. Louis glares at James as he tugs Harry back into his space with a hand fisted in the material of his top. He's watching them, eyes brimmed with curiosity and it makes Louis's gut twist.

"Give me a kiss," he tells Harry, gripping the back of his neck. Louis traces the swell of Harry's cheek with his thumb as the boy leans in slowly, those soft lips moulding against his own. Harry's tongue is smooth and wet as it glides into his mouth. He tastes of alcohol and cigarettes, a familiar yet unsettling combination.

When Harry pulls away his eyes are hooded and his lips are gleaming. Louis pecks his lips again insatiably, twining his fingers in the soft hairs just above the nape of Harry's neck. In an unnatural way, Louis needs Harry's unwavering devotion. He likes to pretend that above all else this boy would be lost and at the mercy of the world without him.

"Be good — and be safe," Louis mumbles against his skin, sighing as they pull apart. Harry nods.

"I won't be far if you need me," he promises, watching as Harry struts his way over to the bar. He's such a pretty boy, a fragile yet powerful creature. His hair is mussed and his cheeks are pink and his dimples are on full display. He slides easily into conversation with James, laughing brightly and touching his skin when appropriate. He's exquisite.

In another world, Louis thinks Harry could be a model or maybe a pop star. He's definitely a talented actor. Louis smirks to himself as he fiddles with the brim of Harry's unfinished beverage. 

-  
  


"You're so fucking stupid," Louis shoves at Harry's shoulder as they exit the tattoo parlor. The boy has been blushing feverishly since they left the gay bar, his words slightly off kilter and his eyes beaming with excitement because Louis had made him a promise and Harry had effortlessly fulfilled his end of the bargain.

Harry had thought it would be too cheesy to get identical tattoos and decided Louis should get a tattoo to compliment one of his instead, to "prove his undying love". Louis had gotten a dagger on the inside of his left forearm, lining up ornately with the rose on Harry's bicep. He's growing fond of the way it depicts their relationship— the way it describes Harry as a delicate rouge, the innocent flower cursed with a stem of thorns and Louis as the cuspate blade, the furthest from amiable in the majority of circumstances and quick to protect what is rightfully his. He worries it might make them look more like boyfriends than partners.

"It'll look nice once it heals up," Harry assures, his eyes an everlasting ray of sunshine even this early in the morning. They haven't gotten a blink of sleep yet tonight.

"As long as you're happy with it," Louis shrugs, trying his best to be nonchalant as he tugs his sleeve down over the wrappings of his latest ink. He sees the way Harry looks at him from the corner of his eye, continues to stare at the cracks in the tarmac as Harry pushes his fingers in the spaces between his own.

"I am," Harry hums as they start walking to the car park at the bar across the street. The skies are thickly clouded, moonlight muggy against the harsh suburban fog. It's not as brisk, nor as windy here as it was down in Manchester but Louis thinks northern winters have got to be the most depressing. Harry doesn't complain though he's clinging to Louis for warmth.

"So what was James like? 'S he any good?" Louis asks, rawly out of boredom. He's not exhausted, but his circadian rhythm is telling him it's time to head back to the hotel.

Harry chuckles to himself, an uncomfortable silence hovering between them before he answers.  
"Firstly, his name was Matthias. Matt for short,"

Louis scoffs, _as if that matters_. They'll never see him again.

"And he was sort of put off that we had to do it in a toilet stall. I tried to distract him, told him not to think so much but I don't think he ever got over it. His prick wasn't like, huge, but it was a mouthful. 'Had strong hips,"

Louis idly listens, sliding his hand into his back pocket and retrieving his set of car keys as they approach the vehicle.

"Overall, I think he enjoyed himself," Harry mulls, slipping his fingers out of Louis's hold and climbing up into the passenger seat. Louis curls his fingers into a fist, the ghost of Harry's touch still lingering on his skin as he rounds the vehicle and pops the handle on the driver's side.

"He seemed like, hesitant to let me touch. They usually are at first, but. I liked him. He was really sweet—timid, almost like it was his first time paying for it, or maybe like, doing it with a stranger or something,"

It's sweet torture listening to Harry ramble on about his sexual endeavors. He has to know, has to make sure Harry had been safe with his customer and that nothing out of the ordinary happened. He's sure it will always discomfit him, knowing Harry can only be used for the physical pleasures of existence. He could never be anybody's love because while Harry's always wanted his own happily ever after his years on the street have rendered him emotionally incapable of forming a bond with another human being.

It's sad, sometimes. Louis knows on the other side of the spectrum the same things have happened to him and that he and Harry were meant to find each other at this pinnacle of their depravity. But every day it's like the knife is twisting his heart, lacerating a fresh part of him and reopening old seams. He's never bled this much in his entire life, never cared so much about another person on this arid earth but it only makes sense that God would punish a sinner.

"Did he leave any marks?" Louis asks, smoothing a possessive hand over Harry's thigh as he pulls onto the main road. Their hotel is only a few minutes up the street.

"... Maybe," Harry peeks down at Louis's hand, his eyes quickly darting back up to the windshield. His heat radiates like the sun, emitting a strange yet obsessive need. Louis is losing the battle against him, resisting its total annihilation.

"Why ... ?" Harry wonders, though they both know he's teasing. Louis tightens his grip on the boy's knee, sparing him a short glance before removing his hand and refocusing his attention to the road.

He doesn't audibly reply. He swallows hard, can already feel himself drifting to the point of no return. Harry has him wrapped around his finger, the both of them always fruitlessly fighting for the dominant role in their relationship.

"... should just admit it," Harry mumbles into his shoulder as Louis turns into the hotel parking lot. The older pretends he hasn't heard him, but a burning regret travels up his stomach to his chest cavity. Louis tries his best not to let anything Harry says affect him, but it's difficult when they're the only two making this journey. He cares about Harry's opinion, wishes he didn't sometimes but when the world chews you up and spits you back out there aren't many things left to hope for or people left to please.

Louis finds their designated spot around the back of the building, pulling in slowly, putting the car in park and yanking up the emergency brake.

"Come here," Louis commands, showing no hint of levity in his tone. Harry's head snaps toward him, his throat bobbing slowly as he processes Louis's words. Harry unlatches his seatbelt, his eyes glowing with the reflection of the outer street lights. He doesn't speak as he moves, crawling closer so that he's stretching his torso across the console. He licks his lips the way he does, his eyes intense and irresolute of the current aura Louis's emitting but willing to dive in headfirst as in most situations.

Louis harshly grasps the back of his collar, wrinkling the material as he pushes their lips together, flicking his tongue out against Harry's teeth. Louis's other arm glides around his waist after a moment, fingers slipping under the hem of Harry's shirt to dig into the small of his back. The boy shudders, a soft feral moan escaping him as Louis pries his mouth open wider with his jaw, tangling his fingers in Harry's long curls. He tugs gently at first, just to control the angle of the kiss, but then Harry tries to take some of the control back and Louis yanks from the crown of his scalp, weakening his resolve.

Harry whines, his lashes flitting apart when Louis starts to pull away. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, curling an arm around Louis's neck and drawing him closer. Their chests press together, Harry's knee uncomfortably digging into his thigh and his elbow snug against the steering wheel.

"... you get jealous, don't you?" Harry mutters against the corner of his mouth, peering up briefly before he presses back in. Louis's breath hitches as the boy tilts his head to the side, sucking at his bottom lip. Their mouths move together coarsely— tongues colliding, Harry's nose knocking into his and Louis's fingers scratching along the dip of his spine.

"You know you hate the thought of me with... with someone else," Harry insists, his lips quivering as Louis slips his right hand down between them, cupping the growing bulge in his jeans.

"Is that so?" The older man quips, a small laugh falling from his lips.

They've fucked in the car before, but Louis doesn't think he's got the energy for all that goes into it right now. It takes desperation and an immense lack of self control to be able to ignore the awkwardness of having sex in a vehicle. While the truck is big, the thick headrests and seat cushions make it quite difficult to move and hardly offer any comfort. The last thing he needs right now is for Harry to jab his elbow into the center of the wheel and wake up the entire hotel, or catch the brake with his knee and send the car rolling down the hill.

"I don't own you," Louis insists, tilting his head back and baring his throat for Harry's lips. The boy moves one hand up Louis's shirt, fingers tickling along his right side, knuckles coming to rest on his diaphragm. Some part of him wants to destroy Harry, while the other more lethal pull craves to be destroyed.

The boy scrapes his teeth against the crook of Louis's neck and shoulder, teething along the corner of his jaw.

"You _think_ you do–," Harry barely gets out before cutting off with a gasp when Louis wrenches him back by his hair, thoroughly detaching those violent lips from his skin. Louis squints his eyes, intrigued by Harry's interpretation.

"Maybe because you _want_ me to. You like pissing me off because you know I'll force you down and have my way with you after," Louis tuts, all too confident in his knowledge of Harry's guilty pleasures. The boy doesn't try to jerk free, object or argue- simply watches with hooded eyes, breaths quickening as he anticipates Louis's next move.

"Get in the backseat," he decides as he releases his hold on Harry, a rush of dominance overtaking his senses. "And get those pants off,"

He's convinced Harry has never moved so quickly in his life. The boy practically dives over the seats, settles clumsily onto his back and quickly works at the flies of his jeans. In the meantime Louis reaches across the console and opens the glove compartment, rummaging frantically through maps, a string of condoms and the vehicle registration before he finally happens upon a half a tube of lube. He too then climbs into the backseat, and settles on top of Harry, slipping down between the boy's thighs.

"Flip over, Babe," Louis instructs with a gentle hand against his stomach. Harry nods blearily, shifting gracelessly to lay on his front instead. Louis traces his hands down the backs of Harry's smooth thighs, forever fixated on the way the supple skin feels beneath his fingertips. Louis kisses the slope of his spine, touching his lips to his tailbone. He runs his hands down Harry's sides and the boy tries to stay still where he's propped up on his forearms, but he's already shivering with arousal and Louis knows for sure after all they've gotten up to tonight he's not going to last very long.

Harry's cock hangs desperately between his thighs but Louis ignores it for now, fully confident Harry won't ruin the pleasure by touching himself. Louis soothes his palms over the jut of Harry's hip bones to the round of his bum, then uses his thumbs to gently pry his cheeks apart. Louis drops his lips to Harry's hole and he clenches instinctually, all the air leaving his body in one heavy exhale.

"Relax," Louis demands, watching Harry's back muscles as they tense further with the effort of obeying. Louis removes his hands entirely, retrieving the bottle of lube and snapping open the cap.

Louis slicks his fingers up, pressing them into Harry's red, irritated entrance. Something tells him James — Matt or whoever the fuck didn't happen to have any lube on him at the time and Louis doesn't intend to cause his boy any more pain. He tosses the bottle of lube onto the floor of the car beside the wrinkled pile of Harry's trousers and briefs.

Harry whimpers softly, hanging his head down between his arms as Louis immediately crooks his fingers up, the tips lightly brushing his prostate.

"Every time you open that smart mouth it's because you hope it'll lead to this," Louis says as he snakes his arm under Harry's side, wrapping his free hand around Harry's erection, circling his fingers around its leaking head.

" _Jesus_ , Lou," Harry groans, one of his hands pushing up under his shirt to pinch at his nipples.

"Might have to spank you next time you forget your place," Louis slides his fingers in and out of Harry slowly, tantalizingly as he strokes him at the same agonizing pace. Harry's body is so beautiful and Louis has to catch his breath as his spine dips with each roll back into Louis ministrations.

"Oh — _fuck_ , yeah..." Harry seems to quite like that idea. Louis hums as he moves his hand from around the base of Harry's cock to roll his balls between his legs, then to caress the curve of his bum. He thinks about hitting the soft flesh, spreading warmth throughout and blooming it with a splatter of iridescent bruises. The best part would be watching Harry struggle to sit or lay comfortably for the days ahead, fumbling and blushing in embarrassment. Louis palms himself through his jeans, tugs at the zipper to alleviate some of the brutal pressure.

"Bet you'd love that," He growls, nipping at the soft skin. Harry keens as Louis slides a third finger into his heat, stroking smoothly along his walls and prodding at his sweet spot.

" _I_ _might_ ," Harry croons, and Louis can just barely picture the way his teeth are sinking into his bottom lip, his eyelids tightening, his brows furrowing in ecstasy.

Louis cups the back of his thigh with the free hand, testing the feel of Harry's skin beneath his touch, kissing the small of his back before lifting his hand and bringing it down hard. The sharp sound fills the quiet air, startling them both and Harry lets out a long, low whine, his spine arching obscenely in response.

Louis feels Harry's skin flush in the aftermath, rubbing his palm in to mitigate the soreness. Harry pants as Louis increases the speed of his wrist, his knuckles twisting deep and dragging against Harry's prostate with every thrust.

"Do it again," Harry begs, his voice breaking on the last word. He sounds absolutely amatory and Louis wishes he could see the fucked out expression on his face. Harry's fingers sink into the seat cushion as Louis licks around his fingers, his breath warm and his tongue wet and all of it no doubt elicits an erotic sensation. 

"Hm? Did you want something?" Louis taunts, squeezing his other hand around Harry's cock again, moving cruelly slow, scraping his palm against the tip before rounding back down to the base.

"Fuck— please _hit me_ again," Harry writhes. Hearing the sound of his boy so utterly wrecked sends a jolt of arousal through his veins, making him feel uncomfortably hot under his layers of clothing. Louis teases him for another ruthless moment, fingers rubbing small circles into his prostate before he slides the free hand against Harry's arse.

"There's a good lad," Louis kisses his left cheek before slapping him hard, the skin rippling beneath his touch. He listens to Harry's harsh breathing as he then brings the inside of his palm down on the opposite cheek, and once more.

"I'm gonna– _shit_ , I'm gonna come," Harry warns after a long moment, his thighs clenching and his toes curling against the seat. Louis listens to his heaving, savoring the warmth against the side of his face as he sets a quick pace. His fingers work in tandem and soon Harry is twisting and making blissful noises, sweat pooling along the small of his back and prickling across his inner thighs and Louis decides with one final press of his hand into his groin that it's too bloody early in the morning to put it off any longer.

"Go on, Babe," Louis murmurs, refocusing all of his attention onto the boy. Then Harry's shuddering, his head falling into his folded arms. Tremors run up and down his spine but he stays impressively calm, focuses on grinding his hips back into Louis's touch until his hole squeezes around Louis's fingers, gentle _oh, oh oh_ 's filling the air. Louis's middle finger presses particularly hard into Harry's prostate, his grip tightening impossibly around Harry's shaft, thumb digging into the tip. Before Louis can register the arching of his spine and the stuttering of his motions, Harry's crying out and coming hard, thick pulses splattering up his torso and onto the leather seats.

He quivers for a long time, then collapses bodily into his mess. Louis finds himself in awe every time he watches this, the way Harry's physique becomes so tense and vulnerable, the way he trusts Louis enough to touch him like this. He knows there should never be any emotional connection exchanged between sex because it would just be too depressing. He wishes he could control the way he feels for Harry, pull the plug and cut his feelings off whenever he wished. Sometimes it's liberating to feel the warmth of Harry by his side, grinning and giggling and tugging at his sleeve and other times it's just too painful because he knows he'll never be able to have the boy the way he truly desires. He feels like he's falling short every time. It's his own vengeful fantasy, a private purgatory.

He carefully draws his fingers out of Harry, wiping the excess lube onto his pants leg. Harry is like a piece of archaic artwork like this, something like a blushing Botticelli angel, a vision frozen in time. He lays wordless and motionless, unbothered by the cramped position he's currently in. Louis can't resist the urge to touch so he reaches out, smooths his palms over Harry's shoulder blades and down his sides. The boy makes an unintelligible sound in the deep of his throat, but Louis's convinced it's not an unhappy one.

"There're a pack of tissues in the door," Harry finally says after a couple minutes. Louis doesn't want to move, though— can hardly process anything about their current surrounding when Harry looks like this. It's a rarity the boy ever stops moving and he wants to relish in every moment.

Louis reluctantly sits up, reaching across the car to retrieve the tissues. It's no surprise that Harry's doesn't feel like cleaning himself up; Louis wipes the traces of semen from his abdomen, uses another six tissues to scrub at the come on the back seat. It's times like these Louis thanks all deities he chose a model with leather.

Harry sits up slowly, pulling his pants on up his thighs when he notices the half-mast tent in Louis's jeans.

"Want me to get you off?" he offers tiredly, his words slurring. Louis suddenly has a strong urge to tuck Harry in bed and kiss his forehead, can't imagine asking anything else of him tonight.

"Nah. I really just want to get to bed," he assures as he balls up the tissues and tosses them onto the floor. He makes a mental note to tend to them later, though he knows they'll probably get shoved to the back before he remembers and stay there indefinitely.

Harry kisses his temple in the lift, nuzzling his face into the crook of Louis's neck. Louis squeezes his hand as he leads him into their hotel room. Harry trips into the bed feebly, rolling over onto his front and Louis has to undress him once more as Harry snores theatrically.

"Nothing but needy," Louis chastises him fondly, his heart giving a weak flutter at the vision of Harry, tired and trusting.

"You're supposed to take care of me. I'm your little princess," Harry chuckles tenderly as Louis pulls Harry's tight black jeans off of his legs, the material turning inside out but he can't be arsed to fix it at this hour.

"Oh, is that what you are now?" Louis smirks, tossing his trousers onto the floor. He gets to work stripping himself of his as well. "More like my little pestilence,"

"Love you," Harry murmurs after a long moment, his eyes still closed and Louis isn't sure he hears him correctly at first. He'd rather not know. He'll leave it an unanswered question, a lost thought floating amongst the many unelaborated sentiments that have been exchanged between them over the last few years. It's been whole _years_ , a grand total of three Louis thinks, and he still can't get over the way his stomach drops right through the floor whenever Harry says it. It's always been cruel - the way he whispers it so tenderly, his body loose and his lips unsure but he says it because he's allowed to. The thought doesn't hurt him like it hurts Louis. Because Harry's words don't mean what Louis thinks they mean. And he's always been too afraid to ask if they do.

Louis climbs into bed with Harry, the two of them clinging to one another for an hour until Harry gets hot under the sheets and pushes him away.

Louis doesn't get much sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry has a sultry way of movement. He's a never ending canvass of doting demise; he's beauty in the purest form. He ululates like he's diseased with some ungodly desire, pushing his long lissome fingers down over the chest of the man in front of him, a sinful smile creeping up the corner of his pretty mouth. His body was made for this scene - the sweltering lust, the intoxicating pulse of the dance floor beneath them, a thick, heady need in the vibrant fog -

He brushes his lips along the shell of the man's ear, a salacious sparkle reflecting against his corneas as he makes eye contact with Louis across the room. A lock of his unruly curls falls against his sweat glistening forehead, making him look loose and feral with it - tearing free of the fearful facade he hides behind everyday.

He's in his true form this way, lurking in the shadows with the demons; unadulterated, unbearable and utterly animalistic. This is the way Louis found him - the dark void swallowing his pupils, a soft pill on the flat of his tongue, need radiating from him like heat about a furnace -

He's absolutely enchanting.

Louis takes a wistful sip of his drink, leaning back against the chair as he watches the haze of his boy in action. Harry whispers something gentle against the man, smiling devilishly into the splatter of hoary hair at the top of his head. The older man inhales sharply, physically responsive to Harry's words. He nods, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair before standing slowly. Harry watches him closely, running his hands over the man's chest and shoulders through is burgundy button down, pressing a long kiss to the corner of his mouth before ushering him out of the room - but not before shooting Louis a sharp, yet indecipherable glare.  
  


Louis feels jaded as he sits alone in the lounge - in this pit of lost fools. His father taught him this side of the world would only dull his mind, victimize him to the feeble efforts of the devil. Louis has never been distracted by the women, nor the money, nor the booze. He only has one weakness on the face of this earth - though oftentimes he'd rather die than admit it to himself.

The artificial glow of the lilac stage light gives Louis a headache. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in.

And he isn't proud of the man he's become - not a chance. There were things he wanted out of life before he took to the road with Harry, before he became a runner, before he sold his soul - but he's given all that up. He's trapped, so to speak—a prisoner of his own poor decisions.

Louis scrapes his blunt nails against the back of his neck. Sometimes he just wants them to disappear - the regrets. He's not meant to be happy and it's about time he accepted his fate for what it is - inevitable, irreversible, inescapable.

He swirls the remainder of his drink around in his glass, his mind whirring with irrational thoughts. He misses Harry. It's stupid, he knows. The boy's only been away for about twenty minutes - only out of Louis's eyesight for a brief ten. He feels foolish for disobeying the voice of his father - falling victim to his own impulses, his own lack of self control.

He knows this wasn't the plan - to become so dependent on Harry. He knows he should easily be able to see himself in a world without him. The boy is a walking explosive - most see him as a sick, twisted fantasy - but Louis was never fooled by his soft, delicate skin, tender lips and seductive lies. He's winsome, but indubitably wicked. Louis has said it before; he's told himself plenty of times not to get caught up in the way those eyes glisten in his direction, the way Harry sounds when he's moaning his name, how those tender lips pull into a grin as the sun bathes his skin in tangerine on a Sunday afternoon. Because Harry only has one thing on his mind.

Louis has to constantly remind himself that he's the expendable one here - he's disposable. That's why he has to keep himself ten steps ahead, has to maintain the upper-hand because while he's already got the mentality to control the younger boy, he knows he could only hurt Harry so much before destroying them both.

Yet he's constantly (stupidly) pushing the boundaries. Lately, it's almost as if he's been trying to gradually acclimatize himself - encourage Harry to do more and more self depreciating tasks with no reward just to see how thin he can spread him. He knows he needs to assert himself as the ruler of their deplorable daydream, before Harry figures out what he's thinking and decides to leave him anyway. The only way to make sure Harry doesn't question his strength is to make sure he doesn't get a glimpse of weakness.

Louis knows it's a fragile system, fickle and fated to fail in the near future, but right now it's all he's got. He's got a brilliant mind - his father used to tell him. He's fairly confident that in the event of devastation he'll be able to pick himself back up, dust himself off and move on as though Harry never existed. He's counting on it. He has to hope. He hasn't got much else.

Louis glances toward the steps to the VIP section, watching breathlessly as his angel of darkness flutters back down the stairs. He's got his black t shirt on crooked, his neck littered in colorful bruises, eyes teary with exhaustion. Louis keeps his expression hard as the younger boy approaches, silently trailing his eyes down Harry's enervated physique. Louis's bearing down on him - making it impossible to breathe with the pressure of these ludicrous expectations.

Harry looks at him wearily, a wordless plea beneath the surface as he picks his leather jacket up from the back of Louis's chair, slipping it on over his shoulders without so much as a breath. Louis stands as well, tucks his hands into his back pocket as he quirks his head toward the exit. Harry nods, his eyes falling to the floor as the two of them float toward the door, a million ghosting thoughts left hanging in the unclean atmosphere - words neither of them will ever say. Louis knows he's running out of time.

-

Harry doesn't look good. He's got purple half-moons beneath his eyes, a tremor in his fingers, a whirring pitch about his breaths. His presence is unmistakably loud and makes Louis anxious. He steps out of their room for his third cigarette of the morning, nearly tripping on his way onto the balcony. His hands fumble dangerously with the lighter, teeth sinking deep into his lower lip. Louis watches him avidly— confused, but fascinated nonetheless with his disquietude.

And he knows. Louis knows he should relent because Harry is suffering withdrawal again. He never meant to torture the boy like this; he was only trying to push him harder, see if he could maybe do the impossible — rid Harry of his deadly addiction. But he's nearing a perilous point in their journey, taking a risk he knows is not in his liberty to take. Harry coughs on the exhale, his eyes watering like it's his first drag. Louis scoffs from where he's sat on the mattress, peering through the glass, trying not to feel the growing pit of guilt in his stomach the longer he watches.

He knows he's being cruel. He has what Harry needs and he knows it isn't fair that he's denying Harry the one thing he promised him when they first embarked on this journey together. But he also knows that Harry's mind is probably too frail to recount it. Now, it's really only Louis against his conscience.

Harry's strong and hard to outwit on many playing fields, but ripe for corruption. He has weaknesses too; he's often so dependent on the H that he doesn't even notice when nor how he's being taken advantage off. He'd suffer almost anything if it meant he got to taste the ecstasy once again.

And Louis knows he shouldn't be having these malicious thoughts, playing with fire. Regardless of his antic superiority complex, Harry's about the only person he has on this wretched earth. He wants to be in control, but he'd also hate to lose the boy over some sort of invisible internal conflict. He sighs.

 _Weak_ , his father's voice echos.

-

Louis plans to give in. He's never fallen victim to his own resolve before, and as much as he'd love to deny it and say he intended to break at the last moment, he can't be bothered. It's only his pride. He's not meant to be the villain in their story, truly. He cares for Harry - he knows the boy is better off a slave to him than a slave to the substance.

Louis melts his lips against Harry's neck, inhaling his sweet balm. He's jittering, his eyes flickering to men all over the room. Louis doesn't like the way he's so distracted - wishes there was something he could do to calm his boy.

"Relax," Louis tells him, a dark gravelly undertone filling the space between them when he speaks. Harry makes eye contact, a look of despair passing over his features calmly before he looks away again. Louis cups his chin, turns his head back to face him.

"What's that?" he inquires, raising his brows curiously. He's not very good at reading Harry's mind anymore. The boy shakes his head, squinting his eyes in the opposite direction. _Nothing_. Louis huffs in relent, letting go of the boy.

He might be very stubbornly convinced about the fact that he controls Harry, and he might tell himself that's he's the one who calls the shots amongst the two of them, but he knows when it really boils down to it — if Harry ever decided to leave, he'd be utterly powerless to stop him. Because what would be the point? He doesn't need Harry - especially not if Harry doesn't want him.

Louis buries his nose in Harry's luscious chocolate curls, pressing his cheek to the younger boy's soft crown. He moves the tip of his index finger along the corner of Harry's mouth, smudging the waxy red stain. His fingers come around Louis's wrist, grip reluctantly loosening as the older man begins to pull away. Those green eyes are truly bewitching; they watch him sadly, Harry's hands twisting discordantly as Louis slips into the crowd. He weaves his way through buzzing voices and warm bodies until he's completely through Harry's line of sight.

And maybe he wants to hurt Harry just a bit. He wants to test how much Harry ' _loves'_ him, how much Harry _needs_ him. It's the only way he'll feel justified about aborting his original course of action. He wants to watch as Harry burns, as the boy itches his flesh because the fever is devouring him alive. Louis wants to watch the sweet relief cleanse Harry's mind and soul when he finally gives him what he needs -

He wants to feel the soul in Harry's eyes as he stammers that Louis is his savior.

-

Louis leaves him alone in the hotel for a little less than an hour. He's gone to the store down the street - bought a couple of sterilizing gauze pads, a pack of menthols and another lighter. He has a couple of smokes in the car park, his pulse racing as his mind considers everything he plans to do tonight. He cards a shaky hand through his hair, sucks in another painful breath before crushing it's might with the toe of his sneaker.

He returns to the hotel sometime around midnight, his heart lodged in the back of his throat as he glances around the lobby. He can't believe he's actually going through with this madness. He hates himself just thinking about it. This feeling of shameful repulsion will never subside. Getting high has never been more important to him than life itself.

Louis slides the key into the lock, meanders into their room on the third floor with an inimitable dread hovering. The lights are off. He places the bags on the countertop, swallowing hard as he clenches his fingers, unclenching them. He shakes his head, trying his best to rid his brain of the traumatic memories that come every time he decides to give Harry his medicine.

He paces the carpet for a few minutes before he recomposes himself - forcing away those abominable abstractions. He's undeserving of the pain Harry afflicts upon himself. He shouldn't have to feel the implications of another man's self-loathing decisions. Because he would never choose it. He would never and it's - _it's not his choice_ -

He wipes a hand down his face. Checks the time on his phone. Harry isn't back yet. _Where the fuck is he_? Louis clears his throat, swiping his key from the countertop quickly and closing the door behind him. He uses the time in the elevator to reestablish his authoritative demeanor. He rubs his hands together, zips his jacket up to the neck. He steps out of the lift quickly once it reaches the second floor, his eyes darting through the hoards of people in the bar and lounge.

He feels his heart race at the thought of Harry's disappearance. It makes him feel weak - which only adds fuel to the fire in his chest. He'll never forgive Harry for doing this to him. Louis shoves through the lank, lethargic bodies, his nostrils burning with the pungency of sweat and alcohol as his eyes scan the crowds for what's rightfully his.

After about ten frenzied minutes of aimless searching, he bolts from the lounge and into the hall to catch his breath. He focuses on his inhales, pairing them with calming exhales as the tangled irrationalities plant themselves in his skull. It's abnormal, but not completely out of character. Harry is like a storm in every aspect of his personality but especially in his inclination to expand across large airspace. He has this need to share a piece of himself with every person he comes into contact with in every city they travel to. It's another reason Louis panics because if Harry ever evaporated into the night with someone else Louis wouldn't even know where to start in hopes to retrieve him. It's always been solely faith that Harry will return to him.

"Have you seen a tall lad, yea high, green eyes, red lipstick, wearing all black?" Louis rambles, completely out of breath as he scuttles toward the bar.

The bartender stares at him, his expression blank as he scrutinizes Louis's dishelveled appearance. Louis rolls his eyes, cursing under his breath as he takes out his wallet, offering the man thirty quid.

"Top floor. F 396," The bartender disinterestedly mutters as he collects his tip, slipping the money into his apron. Louis doesn't bother thanking the piece of shit - he's slowly losing all semblance of control, his palms secreting and his temples throbbing in frustration. He has no idea what Harry's doing on the top floor - his brain tormented with all kinds of snapshots as he rides the elavator up once more. He works himself up with these crazy ideas - does it all the time - and by the time he steps out of the lift he's absolutely seething with rage - his eyes frenetic, teeth clenched. He can't think of anything he'd like more than to get his hands on the boy—

Louis never admitted he had anger issues. He always told himself that whoever it was that made him lose it was deserving of whatever he unleashed—whether it be Harry, his employer, his little sister, even. He breathes in slow, exhales hard as he nears the room, uses his key to pick the lock through the slit in the door. It's not very difficult - Louis spent a whole semester in secret studying the mechanics of dorm room security measures. He doesn't bother mentally preparing himself for whatever he's about to see, hardly surprised by the image he's met with on the other side.

It's a master suite complex with a kitchen, a bar with a stocked mini fridge and a long glass window on the far side of the room. The many lights of the city are illuminating the bedroom, but the decor is dim and it takes Louis's eyes a moment to adjust as he's pushing the door open slowly, entering.

He blinks quickly - it takes Louis all of five seconds to spot him: two silhouettes steadily moving against the king sized bed. Louis clenches his fists as he listens to the breathy whines escaping Harry's throat, the way his lips sound as they move against this ominous character's. Harry's fingers are working down the buttons of his shirt, eyes glazed as he slips each arm out of it before tossing it over the side of the mattress. The man looks concentrated however, panting and grinding his hips down against Harry's thigh. Louis swallows, tilting his head as he takes in the vision of Harry breathless and bare, the length of his throat exposed for the older gentlemen kisses across his jugular.

Louis instantly considers about interrupting them, wants to impudently announce his presence and snatch Harry away from this man because he doesn't understand this- why the boy would market himself without first consulting Louis. He's never really done that since they've been together. Louis takes a deep breath as he gingerly bars the door behind him, leaning against the wall and deciding to watch for a bit.

Harry's rolling onto his stomach after a while, his back glowing in the moonlight as the man positions himself behind, hands cupping the soft flesh of his arse. Louis bites into his knuckles, silencing the words that weigh against his lips. He always tries his best not to imagine this, not to torture himself with thoughts of Harry with other men, touching other bodies and experiencing sensations other than the ones he shares with Louis. Louis never knew he was the jealous type and it's ironic considering he was the one who first encouraged Harry to monetarily exploit his sexuality. He doesn't like this, though - feels abandoned and out of his element, almost sick with disgust because he's _not in control_.

Louis grits his teeth, mustering up the courage to intervene. He doesn't want to be that bloke - the possessive bitch who can't be separated from Harry for an hour without gravitating back to him regardless of who he's with or what he's doing. He's spent a lot of time making it clear to the both of them that they are _not_ together, that he does _not_ love Harry or feel _anything_ for him but it's becoming extremely difficult to stomach the idea of Harry with anyone but himself. He hates how pathetic is is, how desperate he feels for the boy's attention. His head is reeling and his hands are trembling and he doesn't really know what he's feeling but he just knows he needs Harry to not be doing this right now.

"Alright lads, I think we've all had enough fun for one night!" Louis boisterously declares. He flicks on the bedside lamp, grappling onto the man's shoulder and yanking him away from Harry's body.

They both jump apart, Harry grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest while the nameless man — Christopher, or something even more ridiculously lavish and luxuriant like Xavier because he looks as if he's got enough money to buy all the love that comes into his life — sits up confidently, his eyes narrowing and his hands furling into fists by his sides.

" _Bloody hell_ , who the fuck are _you_?" Xavier demands, seemingly unbothered by the fact that there's a strange man standing in full view of his nudity.

"His pimp. Get the fuck up, you piece of shit," Louis barks at Harry, torn between feelings of anger and disappointment. He wonders what Harry had meant to do, wonders what kind of thoughts coursed through his mind when he decided to leave with this man without so much as a text to notify Louis of his whereabouts.

"We have an agreement, you can't just barge in here and take —," Xavier protests, grabbing Harry's elbow and pulling him back roughly when he starts to get up from the bed. The boy whimpers in pain as he loses his footing, his front falling back into the mattress.

"Oh really? First, get your filthy fucking hands off of him," Louis growls, disinterested in whatever negotiations Harry used to seduce this man. He'll hardly believe Harry took money from him without an incentive to do so and he doubts the boy would ever be daft enough to accept the payment after a transaction.

"I'll call security," The man threatens, only tightening his hold on Harry. Louis watches him closely, reading his eyes for any hint of bluff.

"Ah, now there's an idea. Call the hotel security. M'Sure they'll be happy to know your little call boy is conducting business in their lobby," Louis deadpans, caressing Harry's ankle, soothing the terse skin with his thumb. The boy breathes out slowly, visibly relaxing at the touch.

Xavier doesn't speak for a moment, processing his thoughts before formulating a retort.

"They'll be interested in the fact that you broke into my room–,"

"—Or perhaps the fact that you have hard drugs on your person,"

 _There_ it is. Louis inhales proudly at his induction, feeling the way Harry tenses in that moment. He's been caught.

Louis isn't stupid; knows the boy better than himself and can make conclusions based upon Harry's pattern of behavior. He's not particularly thrilled, but he's significantly less enraged. He now knows Harry hasn't acted without purpose, or simply of some aimless influence. Louis tries to let himself be appeased at the information, hopes he can calm down but there's still something cruel and disconcerting bubbling to the surface, begging to be acknowledged.

"What in God's name are you on about?" Xavier tries to conceal the tremor in his voice, but Louis's heard this song before and isn't in the slightest impressed.

"Harry told me," He coyly lies, dangling his mobile phone in the man's face. He feels a bit bad though, when Xavier believes him and his fingers start to press into the sensitive skin on the base of Harry's neck. The boy is making soft noises of protest but remains pliantly still.

"Okay mate, let go of him. _Now_ ," Louis tries once more, straining to level his voice. He himself might be able to bully Harry, tease and shove him from day to day but _no one_ touches him this way, especially not out of anger. Harry's not a toy, not a pet or a slave and deserves the same amount of respect as everyone else. Xavier inhales sharply, as if he's considering the conflict, testing to see if he can push any further. Louis puts his hand on the switch blade in his back pocket, thumbing over its intricate design.

Xavier backs off then, moves to sit on his knees and releases his brutish grasp on Harry's limbs. The boy rubs his hands over his arms soothingly, turning slightly to catch Louis's gaze. He looks grateful but there's an underlying twinge of regret in the center of his eye.

"Get up. Get dressed. We're leaving," He tells Harry flatly, picking up the boy's blouse from the floor and tossing it at his chest. Louis rolls his eyes over to Xavier one last time, rubbing his hands together smugly as Harry immediately moves to obey him.

Louis doesn't look at Harry as they exit the room. The boy walks silently beside him toward the lifts, his fingers stuffed awkwardly into his pockets.  



	6. Chapter 6

"Why did you do that?" Louis blurts the moment the door closes behind them, tossing his key card onto the kitchenette counter. Harry meanders into the room, moving a few fingers through his hair.

"Do what," He hums nonchalantly, doesn't bother turning around to look Louis in the eye.

"Why did you take off without telling me," Louis hates the way his voice sounds - the way his vocal chords are quivering and his muscles are spasming in frustration. He doesn't think he'll ever understand how Harry makes him feel so out of control.

Harry laughs softly, though there's nothing amusing about what's about to happen. Louis can already taste the tension, thick and heady between their defensive stances.

" _You_ left _me_ in the bar alone. You didn't tell me where you were going, so why should I?" Harry explains, a passive aggressive lilt laying just beneath the surface of his words. He picks at the hem of his t-shirt, avoiding eye contact. Louis takes a deep, unsettled breath as he starts moving toward the younger lad.

"Bollocks. You know you need to at least let me know where I can find you," Louis sighs, "It's for your safety,"

"I knew what I was getting into," Harry bites. Louis moves in closer, cups a hand under Harry's chin to raise his gaze but the boy flinches out of his hold, shoving him away.

"How could you? How could you be sure he even had the smack?" Louis retorts, balking at how insolent Harry is acting.

"Because he showed it to me before we even started doing anything, Lou. For Christ's sake I'm not a bloody idiot," Harry answers tersely, diction sharp.

"Oh yeah? Did you smell it too? Taste it? It could've been a bag of caffeine for all you know. And you'd have been spreading your legs for shite,"

Harry looks offended, his expression faltering for less than a second before he's tightening it up once again, eyes hardening and his lips pursing in defense. Because Louis is belying Harry's experience with drugs for the sake of his argument. The boy's tried more things, seen more variety, experienced all kinds of highs and if at this point, Louis attempts to claim that Harry can't distinguish one from another, he might be out of his mind desperate to win this argument.

"You think you've got it all figured out, yeah? That you know _everything—_ but believe it or not people _can_ take advantage of you," Louis says, his tone softening because it physically ails him to think of someone hurting his boy. Harry just folds his arms across his chest, looking toward the window on the opposite side of the room.

Louis sighs. "You need me, Harry. Don't bother trying to deny it,"

Harry's always needed him; from that first dank night on the streets of Manchester. Harry was only a child back then, still curious and naïve and Louis had immediately fallen into an awkward empty role in Harry's life, telling him what to do, what to wear, who to fuck, how to fuck, when to fuck. Slowly Louis began creeping into every corner of Harry's mind, whispering into his ear and impressing upon his actions whether he was physically present or not. Louis hates the normalcy of it, that he's grown comfortable being Harry's guardian angel as well as his left arm deceptive devil. It's worked for quite some time between them and Louis doesn't know if he'll be able to adjust to any other actuality.

"Okay yeah, maybe I do. I need you, Louis. Is that what you want to hear? Does that somehow fix everything?" Harry raises his voice, his eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion. The boy's lower lip quivers, his throat straining as he swallows around the hard lump lodged at the back of his throat.

Louis inhales.

"I need you. But you don't care. there are things I want, yeah? Things I need—"

Louis knows what's coming next, tries to steel himself for Harry's oncoming attack, but his feelings for Harry are making everything so difficult now; he isn't sure how far Harry will push him before he does something he'll regret.

"Oh really Harry, like what?! What don't I give you? You want a fancy watch and I buy you a fucking Rolex. You want new clothes, I take you shopping. You want jewelry, tattoos, whatever the fuck it is, I always give it to you! So don't you dare fucking stand here and spout lies," Louis slurs, the anger formulating his words before he can even contemplate their impact. He almost never thinks before speaking when they're having a row.

"That's — no, you've never given me anything I didn't have to work for. You do it all the time. I pull tricks every day of the week and put up with all your power trip bullshit and what do you give me? _Nothing_ —,"

"Jesus Harry, we use that money to fucking survive! What would you have me to do, then? It's not easy to get people to just hand over their credit card information. It's the method that works for us and it's about time you got the fuck over it," Louis is short with him, can feel the way his fingertips are buzzing with frustration, fueling each cuspate offense. He isn't sure how this night is going to end, but he has an awful pit of dread forming in his gut.

"But you're _always_ holding out on me and you damn well know it. You know you're always teasing, saying you're going to give it to me but then you just- _don't_. And you already know how this works. I'm going to feel like crap, Lou and if you won't give it to me I'm going to find someone who will,"

"Yeah, I've gathered that. But none of this changes the fact that _you_ _should have told me_ ,"

"You would have been angry! And then you would have made me wait even longer—"

"God, Harry I'm angry _now_! I should've known you'd be so thick. You don't even trust me, do you? After all this time, you really think I'd let you die? What would be the point of that?" Louis is fuming at this point, his blood boiling in his tissue, tear ducts stinging because he doesn't know how to make Harry listen, how to make Harry see this from his point of view. The boy doesn't understand how terrifying it is for Louis to lose him for even a moment because they've _never_ made _any_ promises to one another.

It's by a sure whim their relationship has been able to withstand their opposing personalities for this long. Harry could walk out the door right now and Louis would have nothing but a spark of hope that he would ever return. And that's the part that's so harrowing; their enormous, opulent kingdom could fall at any moment and there would be nothing Louis could do to reclaim it.

Louis sees the way Harry's hands ball into fists by his sides, the way his nostrils flare as his breaths become heavier— he knows this is the breaking point, the portion of the story where he's taken things too far to ever hope of recovering. In that moment when Harry parts his lips, all else seemingly dissipates.

" _Control_ ," his voice breaks, "That's the point. You might not let me die, but you'll sure as hell get me close. 'Cause you always have the power to make it go away. You have what I need and you know I need it, but you do _absolutely nothing_. You sit back on your fat fucking arse and do shite because you _don't care_. You don't fucking care about me. _You_ just want to _control_ me. 'Since I was eighteen. I was just a kid who needed a place to kip for the night and you took advantage of me, used me to boost your own pathetic self-esteem. It gets you off, doesn't it? Watching me suffer in my pride, then begging for mercy at your fucking feet because I hurt all over and I can't breathe because I'm _choking on my own bile_ —"

Louis is blinded by this palpating passion - white, hot, cauterizing anger manifesting itself in his atomic molecules. Harry is red faced, tiny fires erupting in his dilated pupils and Louis knows he's seen him like this before, knows how Harry gets when Louis's actions finally stop gnawing at his thoughts and start compelling his lips to speak. The anger comes flowing like a waterfall, appeasing to the senses but rattling to the core. Louis isn't used to seeing Harry so livid and the older man reacts without thinking really, when he quickly raises a hand and strikes the boy across the face so hard, he flails backward and stumbles to the floor, body colliding with the edge of the mattress. Louis breathes harshly at the sight, stepping away to gather his spinning thoughts. He feels dizzy, an almost constant ringing in his ears as he tries to take back control of his mind and body.

He's never hit Harry before - not like this, not out of rage. It sends a rush of power through his blood, a thrumming need beneath his reddened palm and he wants to reach out, touch the warmth spreading across the boy's flesh. There's a dull ache beneath all of it, a distant warning from the other end of the tunnel heeding him to turn around and leave the room, walk away and cool down before he does something even worse. It's hardly enough to capture Louis's attention.

The boy tentatively touches the blood now pooling on his lower lip, glancing up with a flood of emotion building in his eyes. He doesn't cry yet, but there's genuine confusion in the dark of his pupils. Louis takes a deep breath in the silence, hardly processing the fact that he's the one who's caused him harm -

"Don't you _dare_. Don't you dare fucking say that to me, Harry. I have no life to go back to! I sold my soul for you," Louis chokes, taking a strong step forward. Harry eyes him warily, his brows furrowed in distrust.

"I gave up _everything_ I ever had. I don't have a choice anymore. And the last fucking thing I want is for you to kill yourself and leave me _alone_ ,"

Harry watches the floor, his bones trembling with every rise and fall of Louis's intonation.

"So when I seem reluctant to put another needle in your arm, you shut the hell up and think about what I've sacrificed for you!"

Louis can't even think. All at once it comes bursting through the cracks in the walls he's built up to protect himself. He can't hide anymore, can't pretend he doesn't _feel something_ because Harry is right here, watching it all unfold. He's never felt anything like this before and it scares him that he's slipping, falling, losing the battle, desperately trying to shield himself from Harry's calculated attacks.

His fondness for Harry has always completely overshadowed his rationality. The boy is just so beautiful, so young and susceptible and watching his comely features twist in fright only makes Louis feel worse about the words he's saying. But he's telling the truth; Harry has been hurting him from the moment their eyes first met on that street corner. The boy was never aware of it - oblivious to the fact that Louis would take the moon and stars down for him if he asked.

And Louis's never felt anything like this before Harry. He's never known the sensations of affection, never thought he'd be able to feel things, such as caring and compassion, after the way his father had raised him. His childhood was filled with slashes and line breaks; he learned to seek his father's approval because it was the closest thing to love he could ever hope to receive from the man.

His father soon evaporated like snow on the footpaths, his mother remarried and had more children and no one ever talked about the fact that his childhood had corroded. Friends and relatives always wondered why Louis didn't like people or know how to accept compliments for his exemplary academic achievements. He was never sociable, never congenial but he was always at the top of his classes, doing his best. He grew up the black sheep in his own family. That was part of the reason he'd been so excited when he first met Harry, because the boy shared that in common with him. Louis had never intended to fall for him.

And he hates that he's trapped himself in this habit of making sacrifices for the younger lad - both palpable and tangible sacrifices - because now he's slowly crushing under his feelings for the boy, always letting Harry rip open his flesh, creep inside his skeleton and tear him apart from the inside. It's so bad that Louis can no longer envision his future without seeing Harry by his side. This crippling codependency wasn't what he anticipated to come from a life with Harry, and these days he's desperately clutching the old presupposition that he's strong, intelligent and independent and doesn't need any one else to survive on this earth.

Looking at Harry just makes the pain in his chest swell. He knows it's no longer true.

"You've taken so much from me," Louis chokes on his words before he can hope to release them with dignity, "... You _use_ me in every way possible and it makes my head spin. I'm constantly trying to figure out what you're thinking, trying to be ten steps ahead, but somehow you always end up sweeping everything right out from under me. I'm not stupid, Harry. I know that you need me.  You need this _thing_ with me. Because without it, you'd just be struggling to feed yourself like you were at sixteen," Louis spits, his eyes burning because he's not going to let his heartbreak win - not after everything else he's lost tonight.

Harry refuses to look at Louis, glaring at the floor because he doesn't want to see the pain in Louis's eyes and crumble, potentially expose any vulnerability to the older man.

"I _never_ asked you to give up anything for me," Harry breathes after a long, troublesome beat of silence, keeping his eyes eerily detached.

"I never asked you to change ...," he continues, "... and I never _expected_ you to, so you can't blame me for the decision  _you_ made," He looks rueful about his words, and Louis's eye catches the single reflective tear that spills down the boy's left cheek.   
"You can't expect me to _be_ whatever you want,"

He feels like he can't breathe. He can't move. His heartbeat is lost, limbs frozen stiff, his feet unable to shift in the slightest because he can almost see the walls melting down around him, the floorboards of the hotel caving in and the ceiling collapsing as if all he's been and all he's ever hoped to be has been nothing more than a byzantine lie. Louis wants to break down, wants to fall into Harry's arms and apologize but he's gone too far and now Harry's going to do what he has to in order to protect himself. He wishes he didn't have to constantly keep his actions within the boundaries of the personality he's crafted for himself. He wishes he could just act on impulse, like Harry does - do whatever he feels is right in the heat of the moment because all else is uncertain.

" _Jesus_ ," Louis cries, pushing his hands through his hair and tightening his grip at the roots. He doesn't have a clue what he's going to do now, nor how he's going to respond. He can feel himself shuddering where he stands and he knows there isn't anything left for him to say that won't hurt them both and sever the thin chord that's been tethering them together. He needs to walk away right now— should've done it sooner.

"I know... I know that. As depressing as it sounds, I hardly expect anything from you anymore," Louis snips.

Harry shakes his head, looking thoroughly defeated.

"But regardless of whatever it is you're so convinced you have, you would be _dust_ without me. And I think you owe it to that sweet sixteen year old boy selling his little virgin arse on the street corner to protect the one good thing that's ever come to him in his pitiful life,"

Harry's eyes spill silently, thick tears coursing down his cheeks with each rage filled word his counterpart so carelessly expels.

"And what I need for you to do is prove it to me. 'Prove to me that you're going to trust me, abide by my rules, follow my instructions and that you won't ever leave me for anyone else," Louis decides, scrubbing his palms down his face. He can't believe he's actually saying this.

"Who, Louis?! Who would I leave you for? Where would I go?" Harry faintly challenges, his watery eyes squinting in bewilderment. ' _No one wants me, that's why I'm with you_ ,' the boy doesn't say. He's agreeing with Louis, because after all the tears, the screaming and fighting, the cold hard truth seems to forever prevail.

And Louis gets paranoid. He can't sense when it's happening unless someone calls his attention to it. Harry has never learned how to deal with Louis's irrationality, never quite figured out how to mitigate him in the heat of an episode. Louis doesn't know how to handle it either, often instinctively succumbs to the ruthless waves. 

"It doesn't matter. After giving up my life for you... fuck Harry, I need to know. I _have_ to know... and your word isn't enough," Louis explains, exposing this irrational fear to the boy. He's never felt sure about anything since they first started living like this - especially when it comes to understanding the modules of his own design.

"I literally do everything you tell me to and it's still not enough, is it? It's not my fault you don't believe me," Harry laughs dryly, his lips trembling around each word. He's terrified— trying so desperately to mask it. Because he doesn't know this Louis– this man standing in front of him only shows up once in a while and Harry can't do anything to make him go away.

"Just ... show me. Give me something. Prove it, yeah? Make me understand,"

Harry looks as if he wants to say no, tell Louis to fuck off, to recount all of the things he has done as per his request in the past few years— yet something powerful is holding him back. As always, Louis isn't sure what and the universe is confident in its ploy to never reveal such things to him. Certain things will always remain a mystery - some more painfully paradoxical than others.

"What then? What do you want, Your Majesty?" Harry shudders, wiping the tears from his lip on his wrist, a smudge of blood now streaked across his pale skin.

"A blowie?"

Louis balks, nevertheless saddened by the way Harry has learned to keep himself afloat in ravenous waters, "You think you're so fucking beautiful, don't you? That your body is the prize?"

Harry shrugs, looking him up and down. Louis furrows his brow in disgust.

"You think you can just get on your knees and suck your way out of every mess you get yourself into...," he huffs, because it's utterly pathetic. Harry's always been so fucking pathetic.

Harry frowns, taken aback at Louis's venomous tone. With each passing second, this altercation extends toward something far beyond anything they've experienced. While they've had terse spats before and bite at each other's ankles from day to day over nominal things, never once has Louis felt so out of control with rage that he's slipped into some other headspace, one he didn't even know existed. His hands deliberately ache with the desire to do something bad - the only question remaining, is what.

"You don't deserve this body... those lips. That hair," Louis says lowly, his jaw tight, heart clenching when he decides what he's going to do. He doesn't really want to do it, but he knows it'll provide the catastrophic effect he's looking for. It'll devastate Harry in a way that's unique to him.

Harry squeezes his eyelids shut like he does when he's trying to ward off a nightmare in his sleep, forcing his body to wake from a terrible reality. Louis feels his heart bumping against his ribcage as he touches over the blade in his back pocket, slipping it out of its confines. Harry's sitting quietly by the mattress, his fingers clasped around his knee, shoulders trembling as he waits for Louis to unveil his decision.

Because for some reason, regardless of the frenzied power struggle Louis blatantly exudes, how desperate he is for control over their nightmare - Harry trusts him with all of his broken heart. The boy values Louis's beliefs and opinion so much higher than his own. And Louis still hasn't figured out why Harry lets him get away with murder, hell -  cheers him on from the sidelines - because it doesn't make sense that after all the argumentation, he would let Louis have  his way. 

The moment Harry parts his eyelids and sees the switchblade, his pupils dilating with panic. "No— no, no, Louis. You're fucking crazy! I swear to God if you touch me with that," he splutters, a vain attempt to flip the switch on this terrible joke, rouse Louis from this estranged train of thought.

He vehemently stands, tries to push Louis away by his shoulders when he nears but then the older man moves closer and clamps his hand on the back of Harry's neck, wrenching him around so his front is pressed into the bed. Harry strongly resists, his body an almost immovable force and Louis resorts to wrestling him down against the floor.

"Fuck, please Lou. I'll do anything you ask me, just— not this," Harry weeps, frantic now that he's got his front plastered against the floor, flesh stinging as the carpet rubs him rigid. Louis is almost positive Harry understand what he intends to do now.

"Keep fighting me, I swear on my life, Harry Styles—" Louis demands, pinching the back of the boy's neck as a threat to his obduracy. Harry whimpers, but still doesn't relent and Louis has to roughly shove him down, kneel into the dip of his sensitive lower back and bite his ear before he even stills - and even then he continues to beg.

"Shame, innit?" Louis notes as he runs his fingers through Harry's hair one final time, savoring the length of it, the soft, silken feel, it's shine.

Harry starts crying again, his whole body shivering as Louis cups his neck and kisses behind his ear, nuzzling his nose against the boy's sweet skin before he proceeds.

"No tears, Hazza. You're my Good Boy," he says tenderly as he positions the sharp edge of the knife close enough to Harry's scalp to take off all its length.

Louis takes a deep, calming breath before that first soft _shif_  fills the room. Harry sobs at the feeling of his hair being taken away, his hands desperately reaching behind to claw at his partner, yank at his shirt and kicking his legs to jostle him and maybe push him off. The position is uncomfortably immobilizing and his efforts hardly amount to much as Louis tuts mockingly, sliding the blade back under another thin piece of his hair and moving it back and forth until the loose brown curls spring free and he tosses them onto the floor.

Louis cuts another piece off without warning, then another, and another. Harry is practically screaming into the carpet in protest when Louis cuts the final piece, his face mushed brutally against the floor, tears of his eyes and the blood of his lower lip seeping into the carpet below.

"It's okay. You're okay," Louis tries to assuage the younger boy, running his hands down over Harry's biceps, thumbs drawing deep circles into his shoulder blades.

He stands up slowly, steps away from the messy pile of boy to get himself a glass of water from the kitchenette. He drops the blade on the counter beside the plastic bags from earlier. Harry is trembling, tears sliding silently down his reddened face. His eyes are closed, but he's never looked farther from peace. Louis suppresses the typhoon of guilt swirling around his mind, passing an anxious hand over his head.

He takes a cooling sip of water, turning away from the sight of his boy against the carpet with pieces of his lovely long curls scattered about him. Harry sniffles, his tired body curling in on itself. Louis's not sure he's ever seen him like this.

Louis grunts, placing the glass in the bottom of the sink after another moment. Louis crosses the room cautiously, kneels down behind the broken boy. Harry flinches when Louis places a consoling hand on his back, stroking a set of knuckles down his vertebrae.

" ... lay down on the bed, Harry," Louis instructs, his eyes fluttering as Harry turns to face him, the most lethal look of hurt and confusion in his eyes.

"Come on. Get up," he snaps, reminding himself not so show any sort of softness toward the boy. ' _He can't have Harry trying to take advantage of him. He deserved to be punished_ ,' Louis thinks in the ebony of the hotel bedroom, trying to remind himself who he is and where he's come from.

Harry doesn't speak. He climbs onto the bed, hugging his body in a fetal position.

"Get your kit off," Louis tells him, tugging at his elbow to get his attention. Harry snatches his arm away, but moves to undo his belt, then his zipper.

Louis kicks his shoes off then trudges into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He strips while he's there, ignoring his sullen reflection as he tugs his shirt over his head, then peels down his jeans. He'll shower in the morning, he decides.

Louis climbs in bed behind Harry, turning his back to the boy to avoid the rejection he knows is awaiting him.

He chews his bottom lip, head crowded with the images he's seen tonight, the jumbled ball of emotions he's felt, the disjointed thought and putrid affliction that's engrossed his mind in absolutism. He's found himself in a frenzy far too many times to try pulling the wool over his eyes.

He felt the fire tearing through his palms tonight. He isn't sure, but something wild and blood thirsty is living inside of him and — with the right incentive — could have easily destroyed the boy he treasures so much. He doesn't know where these feelings come from, nor how ever they manifested beneath his skin and bone. Louis really isn't sure that if this beast had done more than raise a hand and hit Harry— it would have been able to stop.

He gulps hard at the chilling epiphany, curling his fingers tightly around his pillow. He knows who he is and what he's done and after all this time trying to play the victim, Louis has come to the conclusion — after all the adrenaline and panic, all the bullshit excuses, pathetic exchanges and everything else that's come to pass these last few years — that really _he_ is the dangerous one.

He doesn't even know where these thoughts come from, really. He doesn't know why he thinks the only way to show Harry how he feels is to punish and reward him, like a master would his dog. It puts their relationship into an interesting perspective.

Sometimes Louis wants to treat him differently- with all the goodness of his heart and soul. He knows he's taking Harry for granted and that he should expect it when the younger decides he's had enough of the exploitation. Louis really is the one turning this whole thing between them into a transaction. He has a habit of ruining the best things in life.

Harry cries himself to sleep.

Louis doesn't sleep. He gets up a few hours later, decides to pace the halls to clear his mind while Harry rests. He doesn't end up feeling any better about himself when he inevitably wanders back into their hotel room at the break of dawn. But he tries his best not to think about it anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

Louis inhales the sweet of his skin, nestling his face against Harry's lower stomach. His body is warm, his delicate rib cage expanding, collapsing calmly as if nothing violent has occurred in the last twelve hours. Louis is glad he's asleep because he doesn't think Harry will want him close for a while.

Louis rests his head against Harry's tummy, furrowing his brows as the memories of last night come flooding back to him. He chokes on a breath, his chest tightening and his fingers shaking because he can't believe he actually _thought_ about hurting his precious boy.

"You know me, Harry, Baby... you _know_ ," Louis whispers against Harry's abdomen, his face twisting in regret.

He tries to see the world without Harry, tries to imagine life on the road alone, eating in diners, sleeping in hotel rooms- but he _knows_ \- deep down there is nothing to imagine because there is no world for him out there without Harry.

"I'm going to take care of us... gonna take care of you," he sighs, his voice breaking between words as he runs his fingers over Harry's body, tracing every dip of his flesh and jut of his bones in an inutile attempt to memorize his form.

Harry shifts in his sleep, eyelashes fluttering gently. Louis brushes his lips against the waist of the boy's pants after a moment, then pulls away. The last thing his pride needs is for Harry to rouse during his pity party and shove him away out of spite.

Louis is selfish. He already knows that.

He uses all the hot water in the shower without a single consideration. He spends thirty minutes staring at his damp reflection in the mirror, tracing his bones and spreading his palms across his blistering skin because he can't find the loose seam in which that beast tore him open and climbed inside.

Louis doesn't think about normal things, doesn't consider factors most people do because his mind is always too preoccupied with overanalysis. He isn't polite, doesn't have time for formalities and simple courtesy because he's constantly trying to replace emotions with logic. He's always been one to think too much, try too hard, search for hidden meanings in what most people deem probability or coincidence. Louis's odd like that— always has been.

On his way out of the bathroom, Harry violently shoves him aside, flipping up the toilet lid to retch in the bowl. He's certainly a sight - gasping and choking on his own despair, coughing into the septic water.

"One too many drinks last night, eh?" Louis smirks, folding his arms in the doorway. He's not going to show vulnerability - the anger, the hurt, the internal disgust. He knows it would only further exacerbate to admit, because Harry will tug at his heart until he caves and abandons all of his convictions because that's the way their relationship operates. Harry has methods of seducing even Louis, of gently blindfolding him and coaxing him toward demise. The older man is only now starting to realize it.

Harry doesn't react to Louis's statement, his face twisting in discomfort as another wave of nausea overcomes him. They both know that isn't why he's sick this morning, and some sadistic craving within Louis enjoys the feeling of knowing,  yet watching on as a neglectful bystander. Louis cocks his head in contempt.

"Mate, after the shit you pulled last night? You better be prepared to worship the ground I walk on," Louis decides, coating the last few dregs of his remorseful conscience.

Harry still doesn't audibly respond.

"Well, if you were trying to make a statement, you certainly did," Louis tries again. He needs Harry to _say something_ , to hush this guilt because he knows pushed things to the limit last night and if Harry doesn't speak now he isn't sure he'll be able to cope.

"So I was right? You think you don't need me?" 

"Actually give it a rest, yeah?" Harry finally protests, his voice growing more and more dull as the words release.

"Ah, he speaks!" Louis praises dramatically, lifting his arms to the ceiling.

"Fucking hell, Tomlinson when do you get off?" Harry asks exasperatedly, a pained look coloring his features.

"When you admit that you need me," Louis answers easily, refolding his arms and leaning his weight back against the door frame. He knows Harry doesn't, but this is more about him needing assurance than being semantically correct.

"I admitted it last night you crazy bitch! But you were probably too power drunk to recall," Harry shudders. Louis chooses to ignore Harry's last statement, fearful of addressing the swirling black abyss that was the previous night. It hardly feels real, like perhaps it was all a terrifying dream — but the tiny crimson cut and lavender bruise on Harry's bottom lip state otherwise.

"Fine, then. At least admit you only did it to prove a point,"

"What point?" Harry laughs because Louis is being absurd— even he knows that, but the boy's eyes still waver with desperation.

"That you don't need me to get what you want," Louis swallows, a sadness trailing behind the end of his words.

"If it'll get you to shut the hell up and give me my damn drugs," Harry bargains, dragging his nails down the inside of his pale thighs, little red trails following in their wake.

"Baby, listen to me. This isn't personal... I just... I want to keep you around, that's all. And I think I should be in control of this," The air leaves the room the moment those words leave him. Louis hates seeing his lad like this; he doesn't know what he has to do or say or be in order for Harry to understand where he's coming from.

Harry looks up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of compassion. Louis immediately turns away. His jaw clenches coldly, regardless of the warmth his words endow—because he's exasperated, tired of Harry yanking him back and forth with this. He hates that he loves Harry and he shouldn't have to show empathy and mercy to the one who hurts him the most - even if Harry does it without realizing.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry gently wonders. Louis rubs the back of his neck, his eyes following the pattern of tiles on the bathroom floor.

"Louis, I don't ... I don't do it on purpose. Or because I enjoy making you suffer. I just– _fuck,_ I can't help myself," The boy whispers, his voice catching around the final phrase.

Louis huffs. ' _Don't feel bad_ ,' he reminds himself, ' _because this is what Harry does, this is what Harry always does to get you to cave in'_. Harry says it as if he couldn't even control himself. In the heat of the moment, as the opportunity arose, his body was so dependent on the opiates that he flocked to it without giving proper consent, like a ghost, a voiceless soul trapped within his own skeleton.

"Fucking – _don't,_ " Louis laughs bitterly, turning his back on the boy for a brief moment. "I _can't_ ,"

 _God_ , Harry is so _manipulative_. He's always trying to play Louis like his favorite song and if Louis knew any better he would pack up his things and leave before it restarts. Because this happens every time: Harry will cry, and Louis will feel guilty and give him what he needs. It's slavery, entrapment, selling each other these comely fantasies because they think it's what the other wants to hear.

"What do you mean ' _you_ _can't_ '? _You_ signed up for this remember? When you sold your bloody soul," Harry chokes in disdain, those eyes burning with an inexplicable potency.

" _Just_ —stop it! Can't you just _stop_?" Louis hopelessly suggests. He's well aware it can't be as simple as it seems, but he's known Harry for quite some time and is confident the lad could accomplish anything if he wanted it badly enough.  

"No," Harry insists, "I told you already. I can't just _be_ whatever you want me to,"

"So you don't care that it hurts me to see you like this? I'm worth _that little_ to you?" Louis accuses, carding a shaky hand through his damp fringe, "I just leave you to your own devices and you abandon everything I've given you, everything I've taught you– just as long as you get your fill?"

He's teetering on the precipice of something else here, something that has his pulse racing and his breaths quickening in a way that's all too familiar.

"If you had to choose—"

"–you _can't_ just ask me that!" Harry stops him, "It's like forcing me decide whether I'd rather eat or breathe,"

Louis inhales sharply, chilled by the thought of the heroin being Harry's only method of existence.

"You're an imbecile, Louis Tomlinson. I need you both just to fucking— _survive_ ," Harry explains, his eyes shining with hopeless frustration. He scrubs a tired hand down his face and it's then and only then does Louis realize just how much of a dickhead he's being.

"Louis, I know I've been... screwing you with all of this for a long time, but I didn't force you into anything. If you don't want me or can't accept me for who I am, the door is right there. It always has been. I'm always going to be a liar, a dirty rent boy, a homeless throwaway and a heroin addict. So get that through your thick fucking skull," Harry shakily retorts, body wracked with each sob slipping past his cracked lips.

It's challenging to be in an engagement with someone who's a black hole of anonymity. Because neither of them truly know how to exist- never learned how to say what they mean without seeing some sort of underlying agenda in the other. _Trust issues_ , Harry always says. Maybe it's because of the way Louis's father treated him and his mother more like objects, tools for him to utilize versus living, breathing, feeling human beings. Maybe it's because Harry's parents couldn't live with a gay son, told him they'd much rather him be dead than alive as the abomination he was.

Maybe it's because Louis sees himself in Harry - sees a lost soul desperately clawing its way back to the surface, using everything at his disposal to distract from the pain because Harry can't sleep at night when he closes his eyes and all of the horrible memories come flooding back. He wishes the two of them could just be normal- like normal couples who communicate and trust and love. But unfortunately love between the abused is not so simple.

"I don't plan on leaving. Not until you send me away," Louis appeals. He feels as though he's been shot, like the surprise of Harry's words has paralyzed him. Because when will it end? The boy will only keep hurting and hurting him until Louis can no longer get back up, willing and eager to take more. And he can't let that happen, _he can't let Harry_ _win_ —

"Me neither," Harry whispers hoarsely, "But I don't know how to get you to believe me,"

Louis takes a deep breath. He doesn't deserve Harry. He doesn't deserve this beautiful boy groveling at his feet, begging for an opportunity to prove himself, distraught because he's worried he's lost the older man's trust. Louis knows this person isn't someone he should be able to kick around like a stray dog on the street. Harry is everything. Louis doesn't have anyone else in this world and he doesn't have much of a choice besides to accept and support the lad or live out the rest of his detestable days alone. Everything is bubbling over and he can't stop it, but he always questioned his decision to involve himself with Harry to begin with.

"Yeah?" Louis breathes, "It's that important to you?"

Harry nods, quickly clearing away the spilled tears from his cheeks. Louis closes his eyes, unable to even stomach the image of the boy before him. He can't ever let it be. He always has to push and push until he's broken something he really loved. It's what makes him a monster - his inability to feel when he's crushing someone beneath his weight.

"Quit, then," Louis quirks his chin, the words leaving him without much thought.

Harry's face immediately sinks with dread.

"What?"

"You heard me. Stop using," The older amends, feeling quite proud on the fact that Harry would _never_. His body could never accommodate for that. He isn't sure what he hopes to gain from asking this, nor what point he's trying to make because it's already been settled, the conflict resolved and the tension subsided and he hates that he has to take everything entirely too far.

"Are you crazy? I ... I can't. Didn't you just _hear_ me? Not after all these years. That's—that's... I _can't_ ," Harry whimpers, his eyes filling with more defeated tears. They drip silently down his ruddy cheeks.

Louis closes his eyes, like maybe if he obliterates the current scene out of his vision he'll feel less villainous about presenting this life-threatening ultimatum to his lover.

Louis sighs. It'll just have to be. He cannot back down; that's not even an option. Harry would never take him seriously if he retreated from his own show of authority. It's a delicate power complex between them, a fragile system of sorts.

"Why not? What are you afraid of?" Louis presses.

When Harry glances up, Louis shrugs. The boy looks utterly devastated, like he just might in the next few seconds suffer the full deliverance of impulsively quitting his long term addiction. Louis clears his throat. Maybe he has gone too far. Maybe he's been foolish for challenging Harry over this silly infraction. Maybe he's letting his mood swings shatter the feeble world they've created together. Maybe he's being irrational again, allowing his own insecurities to drive his communication with Harry as if they're the very instigators and determinants of conflict when it comes to his relationship with the boy.

Maybe Louis has such little faith in the two of them that he's trying to convince himself why only he's to blame when Harry inevitably breaks his heart.

Louis braces himself for Harry's answer when the boy looks down, a few stray teardrops crashing onto his thighs.

"Okay," He finally decides, sniffling into the back of his hand. Louis's eyebrows pull together, unsure if he's heard the younger boy correctly.

"Alright, I'll... I'll stop using. If that's what you want,"

Louis doesn't speak for a long moment, instead skates the palm of his hand over his throat, feeling his Adam's apple dip beneath his touch.

"So... just like that. You're done? Finished. No more needles," the older queries, thoroughly perplexed by Harry's sudden show of determination. And for some reason, even the beast is silenced. Harry might be serious.

He nods, those eyes shining with veracity. Louis can't even make eye contact with the boy without feeling like his chest is igniting with the strength of a million infernos.

"Fuck," Louis breathes, suddenly very attracted to the younger man that sits on the floor in front of the toilet bowl with a mutilated head of hair, tear stains on his cheeks and the pungency of bile still trapped on his breath. Something that entered the space a brief few seconds ago has made all of those factors obsolete in the grand scheme of things. Louis has seen this boy quaking with sugar in his veins, has seen him beaten within an inch of his life, and passed out on the street with traces of vomit in his hair. He's always sort of known Harry was the one, in spite of it all.

The boy peers up, hopeful.

"Why don't you take a shower. I'll order up some breakfast," Louis says with a bewildered smile hovering on his lips.

Harry doesn't say anything more. And they leave it.  
  


Louis retreats from the doorway and heads to the kitchen, where he finds the room service menus laying on the counter beside the microwave.

He runs a hand through his hair. What an emotional fucking roller coaster.

Louis knows he can't just let Harry go through with his ridiculous ploy. He knows that if the younger is serious about proving his dedication, they have to do it systematically. Louis had only been asking hypothetically, of course. He had wanted to know Harry's answer. Because there was no way Harry would actually agree to it by choice - only if Louis roped him into it and machinated him with his own dying need. Surely no one is crazy enough to accept, even if it is in the name of loyalty. Or _love_ for fuck's sake.

Louis orders the full English breakfast and when Harry comes out of the bathroom he lets him indulge whatever he wants. It's partly an apology for the way he's been so on edge recently. He feels a bit bad, like maybe the boy won't even be able to keep the meal down long enough to savor it.

He wishes things with Harry's addiction didn't have to characterize their relationship so much. They shouldn't always resort to fighting over it. Not anymore, at least.

Harry sits beside Louis on the mattress, chewing his thumbnail as he watches Louis slide another strip of ham past his lips.

"I've got something for you," Louis says, reaching a tentative hand out to caress Harry's cheek. The boy looks down between their bodies, a flush crawling its way up his neck.

"What?" He questions, curiosity getting the better of him. Louis smiles gently, glad to have his lovely Harry back. They've both been at each other's throats more often than not recently and Louis thinks this is the long awaited day they finally set things straight.

Louis looks down at his mouth, the pad of his thumb tracing over Harry's bottom lip before he smooths his entire hand down Harry's chest through his shirt.

"Lay back. And relax," Louis directs, patting Harry's thigh and sending him a wink before he slips off of the bed and over to the counter where the supplies he bought from last night still await. Louis then finds himself on the floor of the hotel, rummaging through the duffel until he's found the clear plastic bag housing the syringes. They're always breaking, though, because neither of them are very delicate souls and always end up carelessly tossing their belongings into the boot when they're ready to travel from one town to the next. Louis, however, has a separate box for the needles because he knows how easy it is to lose those things between the floorboards.

Harry has obeyed, but wears a nervous smile when Louis returns to the bed. He's been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours and Louis well intends to make up for it. He places the accouterments on the night table before he silently slips on to the mattress.

Harry's bemusement grows. "Lou, what are you-"

"Please, Harry- I just... I need to know if you're serious. About stopping," Louis asks distantly, running his fingertips across the multitude of needle scars on the inside of Harry's arm. 

Harry nods his head, utterly disconcerted. "Yes. For you," he promises, his eyes tracing Louis's twisted features.

The older man swallows. "Okay, if you are serious about quitting, for me ... it can't be cold-turkey. It's dangerous if we try to do it like that. I don't know what will happen, exactly, but if your withdrawals are any indication I'm not interested in finding out," he muddles through his words, hoping to spark some sort of understanding in the boy. It seems logical enough. Harry's been an addict since his early days on the streets. Stopping so suddenly after all these years would surely send him into some sort of downward spiral.

"I know," Harry affirms, watching closely as Louis starts slipping the tourniquet around the crook of his elbow.

"If we're actually doing this... it has to be gradual. I don't want you to get punished for wanting to make a change," Louis hums as he brushes his knuckles against Harry's collarbone.

The younger is already trembling from anticipation alone. No doubt he's hardly even processing Louis's words anymore. It's been a while since he's shot up and Louis finds it tragic -  the way his pretty eyes dilate when he sees the little capsule of powder once again.

"Harry, I—" Louis sighs as he flicks the lighter on, his chest aching with the knowledge of what they're about to do. Harry is on edge, his breathing abnormally erratic at only the mere mention of his one true love. Louis can't help the sulk of emotions he feels at the thought because he knows Harry won't ever feel this kind of excited about him.

"I feel like I should apologize," he says, warming the metal spoon with the flame.

"Why's that Babe?" Harry asks innocently, his eyes finding Louis easily enough to reconcile him. Nothing, not Harry, not a million pounds— not even a herd of flying unicorns would be enough to distract him from the implications of what he's doing. Not after all of these years. Harry somehow always seems to come out completely unscathed and Louis still doesn't know how someone so beautiful can be so broken.

Louis shakes his head as he slips the lighter onto the night stand, moving to fill the syringe.

"I guess... no one has ever loved me like you say you do— not enough to give up something that defines their proper existence," Louis hums as he peels back the paper on one of the sterile gauze pads.

Harry watches his every move with avid fascination, biting his lower lip impatiently as Louis carefully commits every part of this craft.

"And I just... I have such a hard time trusting you," Louis breathes as he moves in closer, getting ready to position the point of the needle against Harry's soft skin. The younger man jitters anxiously, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he anticipates the moment those chemicals surge through his veins.

"Do you love me?" Harry blurts, his eyes darting from the needle up to Louis's eyes.

Louis gulps, unsure of how to respond.

Sure, he might. He's never really allowed himself the pleasure of the thought. He's always been too focused on staying calloused and heartless to admit he needs something as childish as love in his life.

"Um,"

It sounds so silly, so abstract and philosophical and existential and Louis doesn't know if it's something that can have multiple meanings. The way Harry's eyes are blooming with need should tell Louis all he needs to know about love. But maybe it's just more painful to accept the fact that this love isn't directed at him and that the only true love he'll ever have will always be unrequited.

"I don't know," He huffs with a humorless laugh, ruing every word even as it sits on the tip on his tongue, "Maybe,"

It's fatal.

Harry smiles, his throat moving as he processes Louis's answer. "Interesting,"

Louis cringes at his response, his heart pattering against his sternum because he never pictured the day he would confess any hint of his feelings for the boy. He certainly has never imagined it happening like this, with awkward, bated breathes and needles pressing into skin.

"I mean, I don't expect you to be perfect. I mean... look at us," Harry chuckles, sadly. He looks like he wants to cry again. Louis bites his lip.

"But... I guess it's okay. 'Since you love me. Like, when you get mad, it's out of love. It's not everyday you find someone who genuinely cares about you, yeah? Especially someone who isn't like, family... who doesn't like, _have_ to love you,"

Louis feels a pang of agony take over his chest at the way Harry pushes the words out like a last breath, like he's mustering up the courage to swallow a forkful of unseasoned asparagus. He's trying to get this over with and really Louis should have never expected any less from his favorite addict. (And maybe it's because Louis is cynical and has already made his mind up about Harry- he never bothers taking the boy's words to heart because he's too busy protecting himself. Always will be.)

Louis nods gently, plasters a smile onto his face as he smooths his hand across Harry's tense abdomen through the cotton of his shirt.

"Ready?" he asks as he presses the cuspate of the needle against the bump of Harry's blue vein. His skin is warm, blood thrumming beneath the surface. The younger nods, blinking several times before taking a cleansing breath.

Louis tries to prepare himself as well and clear his head from all the distractions, but in all honesty he'll never be able to watch himself do this without all at once feeling guilt, regret, anger and some conglomerate of everything in between.

The effects don't come immediately. Louis keeps a steady hand against Harry's forearm as he injects him with a relatively large dose, though it's often difficult to determine how much is too much and how much is too little. Louis uses a three milliliter twenty gauge syringe with a four centimeter needle attached at the end. He watches, worry creasing his brow because he's done this enough times to know the methodical ropes and how to be thoroughly sterile but there's always that last shred of unease at the back of his mind that Louis doesn't think will ever dissipate, no matter how many times they do this.

It takes a few minutes, but all too soon that familiar glaze covers Harry's eyes, the far away expression that has him staring blankly at the ceiling for the first few moments before he's coming to grips with this shifted outlook on reality.

"How you feelin'?" Louis has to ask, because he loves Harry now. At this point it's foolish of him to think this is anything more than necessary, but it's all still much less painful for Louis to experience when Harry's sort of present as well.

"Good," Harry says, but his eyelids are drooping, his lips parting slightly as his body tries to catch up with what's going on.

"Did I give you enough?" Louis asks, his voice catching before he can get the words out.

Harry's eyes roll over to him from where he lays, completely debilitated both mentally and physically from this powerful drug induced stupor.

"You— uh, you can always give me more," Harry grins after a long moment, once the hilarity of his statement has settled into his skull. He doesn't laugh though, his eyes darting toward the window, attention being drawn to something new.

"Dangerous, Haz," Louis smiles sadly, slowly removing the tourniquet from Harry's arm. The boy flexes his fingers pensively, licking his lips and begins to sit up.

Harry's dilated pupils slowly follow his movements as he slips the needle into the rubbish bin; he begins to move, his tendons jumping and his top row of teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tries to slide off of the duvet. Louis eyes him disapprovingly.

"Fuck, right I wanna... I wanted to—," Harry mumbles, his eyes broadening, a frantic desire all of a sudden settling in his gut. Louis frowns.

"Um, _maybe_ you should lie back down. I don't want you wandering around the hotel like this. Someone might report you," Louis declares, catching Harry's wrist before pressing him back into the mattress with a firm but gentle hand against his sternum.

Harry looks distressed, confused. He wets his lips again, smoothing his hands over his thighs. He loses his train of thought again, his eyes going blank.

Louis just takes a deep breath, wheels turning up a way to distract the younger man. Harry takes on the mind of a child like this and while he's not completely incoherent he doesn't respond much to commands or regulation, but rather physical sensations.

"Just— relax," Louis says, skating his hand across Harry's abdomen. The light flickers in Harry's eyes, the muscles in his face twitching in response.

Louis sighs as he crawls onto the bed. He braces himself on Harry's hip and scoots closer so that his nose is pressing against Harry's stomach through his shirt.

"You're so big, Lou. You're such a ... big bloke," Harry squirms as Louis presses his weight down into the younger lad. Louis doesn't reply, busies himself in lifting the hem of Harry's cotton t-shirt and pushes his lips along the supple skin.

Louis tries not to think about anything - especially not how uncomfortable he feels. He doesn't think he'll ever find a way to escape the constant guilt. He wants everything with Harry and while he feels sick at the thought of doing it now he knows in the short term it will resolve their current predicament.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks, slightly sitting up on his elbows. He can only see the top of Louis's head from the angle he's at and Louis wishes he would just lay down and not worry about it.

"Hush up and lay back," Louis tells him and while he knows being forceful with Harry won't go over very well, he has a bad habit of taking his frustrations out on the boy and can't be bothered with consoling himself any further. He's emotionally exhausted and if Harry even attempts to start anything with him he isn't sure what will happen.

Louis swallows hard, caressing Harry's laurels and trailing his lips across his soft belly. He uses his thumb to push Harry's wrist aside when the boy tries to touch him, an intoxicating mix of anger and hopelessness boiling in his bloodstream and making him much less tolerant of Harry's innocent antics.

"Stop it," Louis grumbles, digging into Harry's pelvic bone and making the boy whimper. Louis then hooks his fingers under the waistband of Harry's joggers, tugging them down just enough to expose his black briefs. Harry makes another noise when Louis touches him, tender as his warm breath dances along Harry's nerve endings, soft lips caressing his cold skin.

"Lou," He mumbles, his body jolting at the sensation as Louis brushes a hand along his inner thigh. He's half hard now, because it takes a bit more to arouse him when his body is under influence. He's rocking up into it because he knows he wants it, something primitive in the ghostlike subconscious drawing him closer to whatever this affirms, but he's utterly useless when it comes to expressing his thoughts. It's yet another thing Louis hates about this; heroin just makes communication and consenting situations unbelievably difficult.

Louis nips at Harry's thigh, swiftly trailing his lips back up to Harry's waistline. He glances up at the boy as he kisses his cock through his pants, watching raptly as Harry arches into the touch. Louis's fringe tickles Harry's hypersensitive lower stomach as he gently tugs at Harry's briefs, bunching them down over his thighs and pulling out his erection. Louis smiles coyly as he wraps his fingers around it, Harry inhaling sharply.

Louis strokes him, leans in and suckles the head a bit. Harry writhes, whimpers. His cock promptly fills in Louis's palm, hot and throbbing with blood and Louis hums as he takes Harry a little further down his throat, one hand steady at the base while the other smooths across Harry's terse abdominal muscles. The boy whines desperately, his eyelids falling shut when Louis flicks his tongue against the slit, tasting the precome there.

"Don't need anything but this, Babe," Louis tells him, tightening his grip around Harry's cock when he pulls off. His saliva soothes the glide and he tugs him slowly, watching the pleasure as it washes over Harry's features.

Louis smirks, leaning down and scraping his lips across Harry's stomach while he jerks him, a strange swell of pride and power filling his chest when he sees that vulnerable expression on Harry's face. The boy moans gutturally and Louis dips back down, catching the tip of Harry's cock between his lips and letting him slide toward the back of his throat.

Harry twists against the bed in pleasure, his eyes clenching, lips parting to release soft little whimpers. Louis glides one hand up Harry's chest to pinch at his nipples, a coil of arousal forming in his own gut at the indecency of Harry's teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

And truly, Louis knows he'd miss this all too much - the constant state of incoherency and lurid desire. He might moan and groan about Harry and pick fights with the boy and try to bully Harry into seeing the world his way, but at the end of the day he's not fooling either of them. He'd miss the way Harry tastes on the tip of his tongue, the shiver that runs through his entire body as he drags his thumb against the crown of his cock before Harry chokes on a delirious sob, his muscles pulling as he arches his spine and comes. Louis would miss the way Harry's face pinches in euphoria, then relaxes gently as if nothing has happened.

Louis smiles, working his tongue over Harry's cock until he makes a weak garble in the back of his throat at the overstimulation. Louis pulls off with one final kiss to his belly, tugs his pants back up and traces his hands across Harry's soft hip protrusions.

He nuzzles into Harry's stomach, hard as a rock in his pants but smart enough to know that right now trying to get Harry to get him off is utterly implausible. The bigger boy pushes his fingers through Louis's blonde fringe, curling his other arm around Louis's shoulders as his breathing stabilizes.

"Sleep it off, Hazza," Louis mumbles, because at this point in their journey Harry only gets high because he has to, hardly because he wants to. It's part of the routine and hopefully with Harry's dedication, cooperation and undying devotion - neither of them will have to be slaves anymore.

Louis lets that thought pull him into an afternoon nap. He knows they'll have to work something out tomorrow because too much has happened in this city, too many emotions have secreted, feelings revealed and Louis intends to be far away from this place by the end of the week.

They leave the very next day.  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Things have been tolerable for the past couple of weeks. It's December now and while the air is dry and uncomfortably brisk, Louis knows he hasn't felt this emotionally content in quite a long time. Harry had apparently been very determined to quit his heroin and henceforth has only needed to take some once every ninety-six hours, whereas he used to need it every forty-eight to seventy-two. It's going to be a very slow and meticulous process, but Louis is drunk on the idea that Harry's been willing to even try.

They're in an obscure rural town up north with a name neither of them know how to pronounce, having a few drinks in the motel room in favor of doing anything else on a Friday night. Louis hasn't been smoking a lot the past few days, has been able to think clearly, remain calm, hasn't so much as raised his voice at Harry and he isn't sure why that is. There will always be a small part of his mind that entertains the fear that Harry is out to get him, that the boy is still going to at times use his boyish charm to distract Louis from whatever else he should be focusing on. Because it's in his nature to distrust; it's the only way he's learned to survive in this world and maintain a comfortable distance from everyone. But perhaps a bit of love can change all of that.

Harry grips the back of Louis's neck, yanks him in close and traps his lips in a bruising kiss. The younger lad slips a thigh between Louis's knees, smoothing his free hand across the front of Louis's top. The fabric ripples over his sweltering skin, cotton collar chafing around his throat.

Louis doesn't bother trying to fight it. He's growing stiff beneath his trousers; he wants it tonight. He'll admit that he sometimes only pushes Harry away because he likes to watch the boy crawl back, timid but eager to exhaust all of his efforts to please. It his guilty pleasure, makes Louis feel powerful knowing he has Harry so debilitated with desire.

Their life is a reckless whirlwind of impulse, irresponsibility and poor decision making. Louis thrives on this operation, addicted to the adrenaline and the uncertainty of tomorrow in the same way Harry is addicted to his high. And in all reality, Louis might use pain to kill the pain because at least this pain is familiar.

Louis breathes out against Harry's ruddy cheek, his eyelids falling closed at the sensation of the boy's mouth moving over his skin. He scrapes his fingers across Harry's lower back, gently slipping them up beneath the hem of his shirt.

"You're easy when you're drunk," Harry murmurs lowly, his lips turning up in a sly smile against Louis's neck. His mouth is stained from the expensive red wine they had earlier, skin flushed a pretty pink. Louis grinds his hips up into Harry's, taking a cleansing breath in an inutile attempt to calm his nervous anticipation. 

"'Trying to take advantage of me?" He slurs, a pleasant sensation flourishing in his lower belly. Louis wouldn't mind watching him try.

Harry chuckles as he rocks his hips down in response, the feeling of his form holding the oxygen hostage in the back of Louis's throat. A twinge of pain moves through the base of his spine at the movement, seeing how Harry is a big boy and is currently pinning him to the hard floor of their motel room. He writhes in discomfort, torn between the growing heat between his thighs and the dull ache in his lower back.

"Maybe," Harry mumbles, his teeth scraping along Louis's throat. Louis closes his eyes at the feeling, carding his fingertips up Harry's vertebrae, over his shoulder blades. Harry moves his lips back up to Louis's chin but somehow manages to miss his mouth trying to realign their lips. He giggles softly at his foolish miscalculation, Louis smirking fondly as Harry leans up, uses his thumb to trace Louis's cheekbone before dipping down again, sucking at Louis's bottom lip.

"'Bet you want to fuck me," The younger boy teases along the corner of his mouth. Louis can't open his eyes. Harry moves up again, sinks his warm tongue into Louis's, rolling his hips. Harry's blood is thrumming in his veins, salacious inclinations only intensified with the alcohol in his system. Louis can taste it on his mouth, can feel the way his kisses are sluggish and his words form in slow motion.

The older man arches up, digging his palm into Harry's back, trying to subconsciously pull him closer and create more friction between their bodies. Harry's lower lip sticks to his as he pulls away just a fraction, his eyes glistening with mischief.

"Jesus," Louis inhales hotly as Harry trails his lips across his stubble, once again traveling down his jaw to scrape his teeth along his jugular. His body swarms with excitement, heart thumping hysterically against his ribcage because _God_ , he really would kill to be inside Harry. It's the only thing he can think of now, his mind foggy with the feeling of the boy's presence, his bones pressing into him, his lips roving across his burning flesh, the boy's cock hidden by several frustrating layers of fabric and digging into his upper thigh. It's intoxicating – and although Harry's profile is a little hazy around the edges, he's never been more sure of what he wants.

"... want you on the bed," Louis pushes at the younger lad's chest and it takes a few moments before Harry processes his request, sitting up on his knees so that Louis is able to move out from under his hold. He stands, swaying slightly and knocking over a bottle of wine with his foot. He mutters a curse, but he's kind of preoccupied at the moment and makes no move to cease the flow of Merlot that's currently bubbling out over the carpet. Instead, he undoes the button and zipper of his jeans, shoving them down his thighs with little coordination. Harry watches him wordlessly from his spot of the floor, sucking his red bottom lip in between his top row of teeth.

"'Should let me undress you, Daddy," Harry complains as he rises to his feet. Louis sucks in a breath, his stomach dipping when Harry uses that term of endearment. He's fruitlessly asked Harry not to on multiple occasions because it often feels so wrong. He's hardly old enough to be Harry's _Daddy_ for Christ's sake –

Harry encroaches slowly, luridly aligning their hips and pulling Louis's torso into his own. He sometimes feels like he can't breathe when Harry's this close to him, swarming his head with his intoxicating presence— the sweet smell of his cologne, his deep, sonorous voice, the gentle up and down of his diaphragm as he breathes, the tender _thump thump_ of his pulse.

Louis dips his head, attempting to retreat from his boring gaze. He curls his fingers around Harry's wrists, but Harry grunts in displeasure, knocking out of Louis's grasp. He uses one set knuckles to tilt Louis's head up, scanning his features with ambiguous intent. He hums, smiles innocently as he reaches around Louis's hips to find the hem of his shirt. He lifts the thin material to Louis's shoulders, drawing it up and over his head.

"Get to it, then," Louis challenges impatiently, arching a brow. His fingers tremble drunkenly as he begins to unfasten the line of buttons down Harry's top, devouring the long expanse of his torso as it's slowly revealed.

Harry's lips curl into a smile because he can never conceal how much he loves having his body admired, especially by Louis. Because Louis will worship him, spread him out on the bed and take his time to touch and kiss and appreciate every imperfect part of him.

"What if I wanted to go slow?" Harry asks out of curiosity because he _certainly_ loves a good challenge. Louis's eyes amorously roam Harry's physique, his mind finally wandering to all the filth he regularly suppresses about Harry's beautiful body.

"What if I didn't ask you what you wanted?" Louis tuts, pinching one of the boy's tight nipples, gliding his other thumb across Harry's soft lower lip. His eyes visibly dilate, Adam's apple dipping nervously. It's the good kind of nervous, though—the kind that allows Harry to lose all of his inhibitions and, if only for tonight, allow Louis to have him exactly the way he wants, no questions asked.

Louis's dominance has always been a huge turn on for both of them, and when Louis takes control it's nearly impossible for Harry to process thoughts for himself. It's another kind of high entirely. Immediately his only aspiration is to please Louis, to give him everything, make him proud. At this rate, Louis still doesn't understand why these nights aren't enough.

He nips the corner of his jaw before he extends an unsuspecting arm and roughly shoves Harry toward the bed. The younger boy exhales harshly, the tautness of his features caving with need as the backs of his knees collide with the edge of the bed frame. He flops onto the mattress and Louis can't deny he misses the way the boy's long curls used to flail out against the sheets.

Louis crawls on top of Harry, gripping him by the back of his head and pushing their lips into a rough greeting. Harry is pliant beneath him, arching up into the kiss, hands gently roving across Louis's chest to his back, cupping around the nape of his neck. Louis sucks on Harry's tongue and a soft, garbled moan escapes the younger as Louis hastily undoes the flies on the front of Harry's trousers.

"Fuck, touch me, Lou," Harry breathes, his voice belabored with arousal. Louis bites his lip at the way he already sounds so feeble, already relinquishing all of his power and trusting his ' _Lou'_ to look after him. Harry likes to play on this faux youthful innocence, likes to pretend he's pure and virginal and isn't the most experienced one in their relationship.

Louis slips his hand into Harry's pants, squeezing him gently through his briefs. Harry responds immediately, spine curving up as Louis's fingers feel out the sensitive head beneath the thin fabric.

He pinches the inside of Harry's thigh, then— a cruel wave of dominance crashing over him.

"Since when do you give me orders, hm?" Louis wonders, pursing his bottom lip. Harry looks apologetic, and the way his eyes shimmer is enough for Louis to forgive.

"Sorry, Daddy," Harry pouts coyly, pushing his hips up into Louis's. In retaliation when he smooths his hand across Harry's chest he catches his thumbnail on the boy's nipple. Harry whimpers softly. 

"M'not your Daddy," Louis reiterates, slipping one hand under Harry's chin, lifting his gaze while the other palms him roughly through his briefs. Harry's already sweating, no doubt uncomfortable from the drag of the material. Harry watches him, eyes flickering down to Louis's artful fingers as they slip beneath the waistband, tracing around the shape of his erection.

"I'm gonna fuck you, yeah? Just how you like– gonna get you so wet and make come so fucking hard, you'll forget your own name," Louis nips at Harry's diamond stud, moving his lips to the sensitive skin behind his ear. Harry keens at his words, cock twitching in anticipation. He's fully hard now, overcoming the alcohol in his bloodstream. Louis knows just how to turn him on, how to make his endorphins explode so that he tastes iron on his tongue and sees static patterns on the ceiling.

Louis leaves one final kiss on his lips before sitting up, sliding his hips over Harry's thighs. He pulls Harry's briefs all the way down and off his legs, awing at the amount of precome the boy is already leaking. Louis curls his fingers around Harry's cock once more, swiping his thumb over the tip.

Louis knows the sex is only hotter, sensitivity only heightened when he gets Harry close first. After all these years, he's an expert on Harry's body; he has mapped out all of his pressure points, knows how to stimulate his senses with meager words, overwhelm his body with scant touches.

"Lou," Harry whines as he watches, the tendons in his thighs jumping. He tries to read Louis's expression but the older remains uncharacteristically stoic as he strokes his fist over Harry's length, twisting his palm around the head before returning to the base. Louis spits down on the slit of his cock, uses it to ease the glide.

"Know you like that, H," Louis taunts, his grip tightening around the boy's girth. Harry sucks in a breath, his cheeks warming in response to hearing Louis's stern, authoritative tone. Louis knows how much he enjoys talking dirty, loves being teased and shamed for his kinks.

Louis increases the speed of his strokes, alternating between rolling each of Harry's nipples with one hand and pulling him off with the other. Harry gnaws his lip around a despondent cry, his long pale fingers twisting amorously in the sheets. Louis doesn't speak, rather stares in fascination as he rubs his thumb into the little v on the underside of the head until another blurt of precome expels from the tip. Harry groans softly, moving his ankles against the sheets. Louis runs a soothing palm across his tense abdominal muscles, urging the boy to settle down. He doesn't want Harry to get too riled up and come too quickly.

An incomprehensible amount of time passes that way, with Louis drunkenly pushing Harry to the limit because he knows the younger boy wants nothing more than to be challenged, forced to be good even when Louis is making it unbearable. He can feel Harry's heart fluttering beneath his lips, the way his dainty ribs are swelling and collapsing with hasty breaths.

"Getting so wet for me," Louis mentions as he leans in, dragging his tongue across Harry's sternum before sucking one of Harry's nipples into his mouth. The younger shivers at the sensation, the torridity of the atmosphere enough to drive them both to madness. It's always been hot between them, but the depths never cease to amaze Louis.

"Love getting you desperate like this... so hot, Babe," Louis awes, grinding the base of his other palm into his own groin. He's running low on patience and his dick is aching in his briefs. He's only torturing the two of them with these games and he wonders how much longer he'll be able to hold out.

"Such a pretty mouth," he says thoughtfully, running the tip of his finger along the seam of Harry's lips just as they part in ecstasy.

"Ought to let me give you something to suck on,"

The boy's eyes flutter shut for a second, hips still rocking up gently as Louis twists his fist on the downstroke, tightening his hold.

"Let me,"

Harry finally speaks after a minute, his voice plagued with breathless want. He paws at Louis's thigh, hooded eyes flickering down to the tent in the older man's pants.

"Please. I'll be good,"

Louis's stomach drops, the temptation of feeding his length through Harry's lips all too great, but he reluctantly shakes his head, sliding off of Harry's thighs. He settles on the mattress, bending Harry's legs at the knee and positioning himself snugly in between.

"Know you'll be good," Louis murmurs, planting a kiss to his skin. He folds his hands over the back of Harry's thighs, rubbing his thumbs into the pressure points behind Harry's knees.

Harry's drooling cock curves flush and full against his belly and Louis leans down, catching the head between his lips and suckling softly. The younger lad groans, pressing his head back against the mattress, inept to contain his pleasure any longer.

Louis moves even lower, gently tongues at each of Harry's balls while he tickles an index finger along the cleft of his arse, moving up to tease at the boy's dry hole. Harry clenches instinctively, a muffled sob pouring from his lips.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Louis blurts without thinking, his heart practically arresting in his chest. He moves his lips down the back of Harry's thigh, teething gently along the sensitive inside. Harry props himself up on his elbows, selfishly consuming the image of Louis between his thighs. Louis doesn't go down on him very often, doesn't get him off nearly as much as he should.

Louis rubs his thumb up the underside of Harry's cock, kissing down his perineum. Harry exhales, his toes curling, eyelashes falling against his cheekbones.

"'Gonna fuck you so good, Harry. 'Gonna lick you 'till you can't– can't fucking take anymore," Louis says virulently, almost to himself before he catches the desperate glint in Harry's irises. Without warning Louis licks a long, flat stripe from the back of Harry's arse to the start of his taint. The younger man nearly shouts at the sudden stimulation, his hole puckering as the wetness cools on his skin.

Louis doesn't offer any more commentary, in favor of pressing the tip of his tongue against Harry's opening. He fucks it in once, retracts after a moment, gathers the saliva at the back of his throat before tracing the circumference of Harry's rim. Harry knocks his head back on the pillows, tipping his chin toward the ceiling. His body trembles, thighs quivering gently and Louis wishes with all his heart he could make Harry come like this, just from this.

"Holy _fuck_ ," Harry strains, eyes squeezing tight and his fingers furling into loose fists beside him. Louis messily laps around his rim, using his saliva to lubricate the area before thumbing Harry open wider, attaching his lips to the boy's entrance and sinking his tongue in deep, swirling it around Harry's walls before pulling out and wiping the spit on the back of his hand.

Harry clenches under his touch, keening and arching his lovely spine when Louis licks another wet stripe over his hole, blowing cool air against him. Louis's cock is trapped uncomfortably against the mattress and he wants nothing more than to touch himself a little, take the ache away from the maddening aphrodisiac that is Harry Styles. The older man often wishes he could drown himself in this feeling until his existence is utterly and incomprehensibly inseparable from Harry's. He wants to die from this pleasure, with Harry's sweet, intoxicating taste burning fresh on his tongue.

Louis laves over Harry's hole slower, pulling off to guide his first two fingers along the flat of his tongue and gather the slick. Louis slides them in gently, immediately crooking them up and beckoning them against the boy's smooth walls. The saliva creates a questionable, albeit tolerable drag and while he knows they have a bottle of lube hidden in one of their bags somewhere around the room, he's definitely not sober enough to leave this bed hunting for it.

" _F-fuck_ me— ," Harry gasps when Louis touches that little bundle of nerves deep within, his left leg kicking out against the mattress, hips pushing up into his fingers.

He waits before he wets a third digit and tucks it inside beside the others, twisting, scissoring them scrupulously, observing Harry's body for any indicators of pain.

Then Harry is clawing at his hair, rolling his hips and begging Louis to come up and kiss him, fuck him. Louis doesn't distinctly hear his words, but registers an intense, intrinsic need to _move_.

Harry exhales in relief as he sinks back against the mattress, his hand coming up to Louis's neck and pulling him in for a warm, wet kiss.

"Come on, just– fuck me _,_ Daddy," Harry breathes out against his lips, and while he may sound invalidated with need Louis can still see her — the dark, decadent demon-like damsel that looms in the void of his eye. Harry's never been innocent and sometimes in the heat of their play, Louis will forget that. He'll see the sweet, youthful boy on the street corner who just needed someone to look after him, buy him dinner and maybe take him home afterwards. He'll forget his Harry is a cold blooded, merciless mercenary, that his soul is a valley of ashes and a purgatory of lustful desires. It's the sole reason they're partners.

"'Told you not to call me that," Louis remembers, as he coasts a hand over Harry's neck, feeling the way his throat tightens with impudence. The boy eyes him sultrily, just slightly parting his lips.

" _Daddy_ ," Harry moans dramatically, a soft giggle erupting from his chest. Louis smirks, turning his lips in understanding because he knows Harry is just trying to push him, just to see what he'll do. And Louis knows he's losing by retaliating but he can't help the way his eyes ache to see that smug grin melted from Harry's face.

Louis slips his left hand into Harry's hair, using the leverage to lift the boy's head just a bit before slapping him firmly across the face, a red warmth blooming across his right cheekbone.

" _Fuck_ _— yes_ ," Harry shudders, blinking quickly as his brain computes what's just happened. His heart rate tangibly increases and his his cock twitches between them - but he tries to restore his breathing pattern and recompose himself so he doesn't reveal just how much that turned him on. Louis uses this time to push down his own pants, tossing them aimlessly across the room.

"I bet you think it's cute, yeah? Don't you? – testing me like that," Louis doesn't give Harry a moment before he's curling his fingers around the younger boy's ankles and hoisting them up over his shoulders. Harry winces at the startling stretch in his lower back, his eyelids wavering weakly.

Louis spits into his palm, and he knows this part is going to be uncomfortable, so he tells himself through the drunken haze to go slow so he doesn't actually hurt Harry. They both love to play with the idea of power, strength and weakness, domination and submission, but Louis would never deliberately abuse that power over Harry. Which goes for everything they do, everything they _are_.

He coats his cock with the slick, which hardly reconstitutes for actual lubricant, but it'll have to do for now because he doesn't think neither he nor Harry is strong enough emotionally to delay this another moment. Louis pulls the foreskin back, positions the head at Harry's opening while the other hand remains steady on the boy's calf. He teases just the tip in slowly, smudging the precome around his hole and watching Harry's eyes flicker in annoyance. Louis smirks but finally slips it in, moving gradually, kissing his neck to distract him from the stretch.

And Harry's body is heaven on earth— the way despite the almost painful friction his tight heat completely engulfs Louis, swallowing him up so that he's forever suspended in this moment. He won't try to deny it anymore; he's never known love beyond the man laying beneath him. Louis knows they're not perfect, knows they're both fucked in the head and that it's stupid to have these blissful emotional revelations when he's bollocks deep - but he can't help it. When Louis is _this close_ to him, pulsating inside of him and sharing what's probably the most intimate thing he can think of while it's nothing more than another fuck to Harry— it makes his eyes burn and his throat feel tight around tragedies he'll never be able to unfold.

Louis told himself along time ago that he could never love Harry, promised he wouldn't ever subject himself to the lifeless agony of loving someone else's throwaway. He doesn't know how to heal Harry, doesn't even know if he can make this broken boy whole again. But he knows there isn't any one else out there for him like Harry, no one else who understands what it's like to be a monster trapped in human skin. And thus he's destined to this endless cycle of pain, repression and the suffering that follows.

It was his choice and it's always been his choice to stay with Harry, to support him and care for him regardless of the strain it puts on his heart. When Harry drinks the stomach pains away, or when the only way he can manage to make it through the day is by spending twenty out of twenty four hours high –

And as much as he tries to convince himself that he doesn't care, that eventually Harry will be gone or dead and he'll finally be free of this hell - the mere thought tears through his spine. He's in too deep now, and there are no solvents that keep them both alive and free from inevitable hell. 

"Hurts?" Louis blearily asks as he sinks in slow, the heat filling his chest but he tries to stay level headed despite the pressure. There are things he needs to pay attention to, but it's becoming harder and harder to remember what those things are. Harry pants below him, licking his lips in concentration as he adjusts to the thickness of the intrusion.

"A little," Harry says, smoothing his hands across his tummy. Louis tries his best not to move, but he's losing the grip on his desire, falling out of touch with the current surrounding, teetering on the edge of this dimension and the next, and begging all forces of divinity to keep him from fucking this up.

Louis leans down, sucking at the juncture between Harry's neck and his jaw as he snakes one hand between their bodies, fisting Harry's cock slow and sweet. A few moments elapse and soon the younger is moaning breathily, tiny beads of sweat reforming along his hairline.

"It's okay," he eventually sighs, pushing his hands under the pillow beneath his head for leverage. Louis never takes Harry's consent lightly; he draws out almost all the way, still using his hand to steady the glide as he thrusts back in. He starts up a steady rhythm, losing himself in the feeling of Harry completely encompassing him from his thighs bracketing Louis's hips to the way his hole clenches around Louis's girth.

"So good, Babe. Letting me have you like this," Louis chokes, his hips rolling in quick, deliberate motions.

He nearly folds Harry in half each time he dips down to kiss him, plunging his tongue into his mouth and trading him a bit of saliva. Louis rests his forehead against Harry's, huffing breathlessly as he searches the empty look in the boy's eyes.

Louis touches the place they're connected, using his other hand to wipe at a small tear cascading down Harry's cheek. He leans up a bit to cup Harry's jaw, digs his thumb into the boy's chin as he grinds his hips at a new angle, desperate to find Harry's sweet spot.

Before Harry, Louis had only ever been with women, romantic or otherwise. The first few times they had tried to fool around were awkward and uncomfortable, especially considering that eighteen year old Harry — practically a child — was more keen on the male anatomy. He blew Louis a few times, got him off into his hand in the shower and one time even dry humped him in a movie theater. The first time they fucked Harry didn't mind talking Louis through it, showing him what to do and how to make it feel nice because he was _good at these types of things_.

And Louis tried not to feel guilty about the semantics of it all — that he was enjoying the sexual benefits of having a young, degenerate rent boy on his arm. Because eventually he learned how to take care of Harry as well. It became a personal goal of his, to speak and to touch, to watch Harry's natural responses to certain stimuli. Louis can make him come easily now— doesn't need the boy to tell him to go slower or faster or where to position his hands or how to find his prostate because he's grown for him. Louis's adapted, and he always hoped Harry would do the same.

The boy twists in the sheets, heels slipping down Louis's back when the head of Louis's cock drags along his prostate. Harry's next exhale is short, but powerful like a gust of winter wind. His gentle body is surging with each of Louis's thrusts, the articulated sound of their colliding skin filling the air.

"Fuck," Harry cries, pushing back into Louis's thrusts. His fingers scramble around the base of Louis neck, pressing the dip between his collarbones.

And Louis doesn't think he'll ever grow complacent with the way Harry's face contorts in pure ecstasy when they're doing this—when Louis's giving him the raw dicking some primal part of him craves. Because all Louis's ever wanted was to matter to somebody, to be able to provide something to Harry that most never bothered to. He still gets jealous when he sees Harry with other men, when he suggests that _he go put his talents_ _to use_ because some sullen and sadistic part of Louis's heart likes the torture, thinks it's what he deserves for all the fucked up shit he's done in his life. He hopes in vain that one day he'll wake up with a heart of stone about Harry in the same manner he gradually numbed to the idea of their life on the road, their method of stealing money from innocent people all over the country.

"Please Lou, I – _fuck_ , just— _do it_ _,_ I'm _close_ ," Harry stammers, words hardly intelligible around each of his sporadic breaths. Louis has his head thrown back a bit, eyes shut as he rotates his hips, tugging back carefully before pitching forward. The heat is lecherous, poisoning his body, boiling in his blood.

Louis allows himself another moment to revel in the sensation before he gathers his bearings. He runs a hand along Harry's chest, tweaking a nipple or two before wrapping his knuckles around Harry's cock, swiping his thumb over the engorged head. Harry's practically on fire and Louis can almost feel the way his balls draw taut with his impending orgasm.

"I bet you need this to survive, huh? Can't even function without a dick in you," he declares, flicking his loose blonde fringe from his eyes. Louis bites his lip hard as he roughly jerks Harry in time with his thrusts, knowing how frustratingly unpleasant it much feel considering how close he is to orgasm.

"No," He whimpers as he closes his eyes. Louis's chest fills with air.

"But you know you love it - you love it when I get like this with you... when I take you rough, fuck you so hard it hurts,"

Harry has never looked more overwhelmed than when Louis has him like this, falling victim to his filthiest, most deadly desires. Luckily, Louis liked to play with fire when he was a boy and is never frightful testing boundaries. Harry likes to be scared sometimes, utterly unable to get himself out of a situation even if he wants to. It's about control— loosening all of the ties and cutting all of the chords until Harry has surrendered every last drop of himself to Louis.

"Fucking _filthy_ ," Louis slurs, his wrist speeding up on Harry's cock so that the wet pink tip is sliding out and disappearing from the opening in Louis's fist. He fucks in a bit harder, making sure to stimulate Harry's prostate.

" _Oh_ shit, just– _please_ ,"

He pushes his hand back up Harry's chest. His hand is wet with Harry's slick and Louis doesn't hesitate to tap his fingers along the seam of the boy's lips.

"Open," Louis commands, watching the nervous look as it swims laps in Harry's gaze. The younger man parts his lips almost reluctantly, allowing Louis to sink his fingers into the softness of his tongue.

"Yeah, _take it_ ," Louis grunts, his pulse thundering with knowledge of what he's about to do. Harry stares up at him with innocent eyes, and while they both know it's an act it doesn't lessen the amount of pleasure that tears through Louis's spine when he watches himself slide his fingers from Harry's pillowy lips, knuckles glistening with Harry's spit.

Louis leans in, presses one last kiss to the boy's mouth before straightening his spine, wrapping his fingers around Harry's throat.

" _Shit_ — Lou, please," Harry begs, doesn't bother taking a breath because they both know he _wants_ to be on the brink of asphyxiation. His eyes widen with panic just before Louis is applying pressure, squeezing his fingers around Harry's windpipe.

Louis watches him closely, savors the way his features darken an elegant hue of red and his chest spasms because his lungs are desperately trying to obtain oxygen. Louis's pressing down firmly enough to leave some nasty bruises behind; he loves dusting his fingertips over them after, making Harry uncomfortable, his voice husky for several days and glowing with pride because _he_ 's the one who caused it, the _only_ one Harry trusts enough to do it.

Harry's eyes roll back gently, his hands trembling by his sides and that's when Louis knows to release his hold, allow the boy's chest to fill with oxygen before going in for the second. Harry jolts up and coughs uncontrollably, fat tears budding in the corners of his eyes.

" _Louis_ ," he whimpers, trying to wipe them but the older man chides him, knocking his wrists into the bed above his head while the other hand slips back around his neck.

Harry's on edge, the bridge of his nose pinching, his forehead wrinkling and Louis knows there's nothing in this world that could compete with the beauty of Harry when he's close.

"You're gonna take it, yeah? Gonna be a good boy?" Louis whispers to him, seeking out any sort of uncertainty in the boy's expression. Harry's Adam's apple dips under the touch and Louis takes a moment to thumb over his chin, trace the cut of his jaw and hook his index finger into the gold chain adorning his pale throat.

Louis fists his cock slowly, hips stuttering against Harry's thighs on the same beat as his fingers press hard into Harry's neck. He admires the almost lilac shade that fills Harry's face, the way his eyelids twitch and his back arches almost unnaturally before his lips part in a silent scream and he comes, thick white ropes striping across his belly, his chest.

The sight is enough to bring Louis right to the edge. Harry starts to go limp again and when he releases his hold the younger lad melts into the mattress, his body quaking with the aftershocks.

"So fucking hot, Babe," Louis murmurs, kissing under Harry's jaw as he speeds his thrusts. The boy cups his hands faintly around Louis's throat, pulling him up closer. And Louis kisses him again, allows himself to get lost in the haze of his own imminent climax. It's a cold sensation that coils throughout his bones and settles at the base of his spine, makes the contours of his body prickle with hot sweat and muscles tighten in anticipation.

"Come on, Daddy, come _inside_ me—" Harry's voice breaks softly, his eyelashes glistening with tiny teardrops and Harry's never looked this unreal, this sickeningly sexy.

Louis doesn't bother trying to stave it off any longer - he's learning to appreciate these pleasures in life, taking advantage of what's good because even though he's destined to an eternity of agony he has Harry's glorious body — and right now, it's the only thing he needs.

Louis's heart races and his breaths thicken and he rolls his hips in one final time before the orgasm is flooding his senses in sweet static and he's coming hard with a deep, guttural moan muffled against Harry's skin. His body shakes, pulse stammering wildly before the feeling passes and he's slumping on top of the boy, all the muscular strain finally catching up to him.

A long moment of silence rolls around before Harry is shifting underneath him, grunting discontentedly.

"Get up before you pass out," he grumbles, panic lacing his words. It's happened before, Louis remembers. Harry unhooks his legs from Louis's shoulders, pushing his knees against the older man's chest.

"'M not," Louis garbles, gently pulling his softening cock out of Harry. The boy keens gently, his walls hypersensitive from the earlier lack of adequate preparation.

"You pass out _every_ time," Harry teases him, his statement breaking between phrases as he catches his breath. Louis sits up slowly, pensively drags a few fingers through the mess on Harry's tummy. He knows it's another age joke, an insult on his stamina but it's not even true.

"Filthy liar," Louis snarks, watching Harry's lips as they part in some kind of retort. He can't help his thumb from outlining the bow of Harry's upper lip, hovering the opening of his mouth before exhaustedly dropping his wrist down against Harry's chest.

"Filthy, not a liar,"

Louis's cock gives a weak twitch between his thighs. Harry sits up against the headboard, seeming to have sobered up significantly since they first started unscrewing bottles earlier in the evening. He hadn't been keeping track of how much either of them had, but Louis still feels pleasantly drowsy.

"I _feel_ filthy, anyway," he amends, his gaze falling to the pool of semen cooling on his stomach. Louis should get up, go get a flannel from the bathroom to clean Harry off. He sighs. _In a minute_.

"Because you are, begging me to choke you like that," he blissfully recounts, rolling onto the other side of the bed. He turns over so he can still see Harry, hoping the light banter will keep him from dozing off just yet.

"You love me," Harry counters though he's flustered, pinching the nape of Louis's neck out of vengeance. Louis doesn't answer, because he knows Harry is right.

They then fall into a comfortable silence, Louis's breath evening slowly and Harry's fingers trace light shapes across the plane of his back.

Louis isn't sure how much time passes but he's eventually pushing his face into the coolness of his pillow, drifting out of consciousness. Soon Harry's presence disappears beside him. When he parts his eyelids there's an ominous humidity hanging in their room and Harry is slightly damp, short hair dripping at the tips, standing in front of the bathroom mirror. From where Louis lays he can easily watch as Harry tucks himself snugly into one of his black wool jumpers, straightening the fabric out over his torso.

Harry's humming softly to himself, pushing the sleeves of his sweater up as he runs his hands through the tap, splashing cold water onto his face. He turns and pats his face on one of the hanging towels, flicks the light off and then reenters the bedroom.

Louis stays quiet and bodily still as Harry mills about the room, zipping his shampoo and body wash back up in his bag before standing. He sits carefully on the opposite side of the bed, trails one of his soft hands down Louis's spine. Louis can't see him or tell what he's doing, but he feels Harry's fingers fiddling with something around his ankles and before he's able to figure it out, a thick duvet is cloaking him in warmth.

Louis stares at the floor, his heart swelling in his chest for Harry as he stands once more. He watches Harry wander around the room for another minute or so, the younger boy picking through Louis's jeans and his jacket in search of something. _Ah_ , Louis thinks as Harry pulls out the pack of cigarettes and his lighter, taking one out of the box and stuffing the motel key card in his back pocket before slipping out the front door.

There aren't very many words to describe his feelings for Harry. But considering something as mundane as watching the boy go out for a smoke makes his belly quiver with butterflies, he thinks the only proper word suitable to describe his affections, is love.

It's difficult to accept. It's always been scary and unsettling and Louis thinks he's finally coming to terms with the fact that it doesn't have to be. The pain is forever inevitable, but after all it's Louis's choice to suffer.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Thanks for Reading !**  
>  Please let me know what you think of this concept in the comments.  
> I appreciate all feedback(:
> 
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> [tumblr](http://www.lol----no.tumblr.com)


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